


To Leave A Love Divine

by SteadyLittleSoldier



Category: 18th Century CE RPF, Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Adultery, Alexander Hamilton accused, Angst, Bathing/Washing, Canon Era, Coming In Pants, Court, Crying, Crying During Sex, Depression, Eliza fans gonna be crying, Eliza is a saint, F/M, Fluff, Garrow's Law crossover, Historical Inaccuracy, Hurt/Comfort, I'm Sorry, Implied/Referenced Torture, Infidelity, Internalized Homophobia, Jail, John Is Back, Lawyers, M/M, Mild Smut, Not really..., Oral Sex, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Romance, Rough Sex, Self-Harm, Sharing a Bed, Slurs, Suicidal Thoughts, Trauma, accused of sodomy, dub-con, getting caught, legal case, well just a tiny bit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-23
Updated: 2016-12-03
Packaged: 2018-05-28 15:11:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 24
Words: 47,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6333937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SteadyLittleSoldier/pseuds/SteadyLittleSoldier
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The war is over. Alexander has finally settled down.<br/>An old friend reappears, but along he brings a hurricane, and the sleeping feelings are inflamed, which might destroy both of them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Salvage

Alexander woke with a jerk from a single thud on the door. He fluttered his eyes open, trying to blink the drowsiness away and get his bearings; he was seated at his desk chair in his home office, with a quill in one hand and his head resting on the other. He lifted his head up and looked around, his vision a little hazy. The candle on his desk had burned out and melted on the holder. He must have dozed off. He was reminded once again of Eliza's absence; she was on a visit to her father with little Phillip. Alexander had to stay behind for work; he couldn't spare a single day, or he would have liked to go to the lake with Eliza that she so dotingly talked about.  


A soft smile appeared on his lips as he thought of his wife with fondness; if Eliza were home, she wouldn't have let the candle burn out. On the nights when Alexander would work late, which were most nights these days, Eliza would poke her head around the door every now and then to check on him, and sometimes usher a very drowsy Alexander out of the office with her loving arms wrapped around him. Even if he didn't let on, Alexander was grateful to his wife for tending him, because he was physically unable to take care of himself sometimes – his mind seemed like a train, going one way, laying waste to all in its path, and he was unable to stop until his work was done. Now, in the absence of his wife, he couldn't remember the last time he’d slept in his own bed.  


Another knock on the door reminded him of why he had awoken. He stood up with a groan; almost every part of his body ached in protest from the lack of rest and sitting for so long at a stretch. Taking the candle holder, he swayed to the fireplace. Another knock on the front door – by the sound of it, whoever it was, they had grown a little impatient, as he lit a candle and climbed down the stairs, careful not to trip because his feet felt unusually weighty today. It wasn’t in his habit to doze off while working. Maybe the workload had finally gotten to him or – _middle age comes to us all_ – Alexander thought to himself.  


"So very sorry to keep you waiting," said Alexander, opening the mahogany door.  


His eyebrows knitted as he saw a round-faced boy, whom he had never seen before, standing on his doorstep.  


"Good evening, sir. I am to deliver this to you," said the boy, as he handed him a roughly folded envelope.  


Alexander hesitated before taking the envelope from the boy; private posts didn't usually bring good news. "Thank you," Alexander said, examining the cover, his name and address written with a messy scrawl that he couldn't recognize.  


"Read the letter, will you please, sir? I have strict orders to escort you to the hospital if you so wish," said the boy.  


This confused Alexander even more. "Hospital? Why would I wish to go to the hospital? Pray, is anyone hurt?" he said as calmly as he could.  


"I assume everything you need to know will be explained in the letter, sir."  


Alexander handed the boy the candle in his urgency to tear the envelope open and reveal the letter inside. His eyes ran over the words in haste.

_Mr. Alexander Hamilton_  
_We have a patient in our care who claims to be your friend and will give no one else’s name but yours as his friend or relative. He is not in good health and seems to worsen day by day. He wishes to meet with you. If you would be so kind to fulfill the man’s desire, Griffiths will escort you. I will be happy to explain more to you when you arrive._  
_Dr. Phillip Morgan_  


* * *

His friend? Alexander tried to figure out who could have described himself as his friend. All of his friends were in good health as far as he knew.  


He wasted no time in calling the maid, asking for his coat, and ordering her to lock the front door behind him.  


As the hansom speeded up, Alexander grew more anxious. He was now on his way to the hospital in a carriagethat the boy, Griffith, was driving. He had a lot of work to do, but the letter screamed with urgency and he couldn't possibly deny the poor sick man's wish. The cab came to a halt. Griffith jumped off the cab, held the door open for Alexander, and led him inside the hospital building. Griffith entered the first ward on the left and scanned the cots as he passed.  


"Ah, here is your friend, Mr. Hamilton," said Griffith, stopping at the foot of a cot. “If you’ll wait here, sir, I will call the doctor.”  


Alexander's glance trailed Griffith’s to the patient lying on the bed – a skinny, tall body, a thin sheet tucked under his arms, wearing an oversized hospital gown which made him look even thinner. Alexander's stomach dropped as he looked at the man's face; his face was pale, his prominent jawline and cheekbones stood out more now, and deep dark circles were visible around his eyes. Unable to sit up, he looked back at Alexander with watery eyes, his lips twitching.  


Alexander let out the breath he didn't know he was holding with a pained huff. Moisture gathered in his eyes as he rushed to kneel down beside the cot, and breathed out "Laurens!"  
A trembling hand reached up and cupped Alexander’s cheek as Laurens attempted a smile. "Alexander!"  


Tilting his head, Alexander clutched the hand on his cheek to steady it. For a long moment they just looked at each other in silence. Alexander, who found it difficult to stop talking at times, was now unable to form a sentence; he just took in his closest friend's face, the face he thought he would never see again.  


"Alexander..." John repeated after a while. "So long, it's been."  


A single teardrop rolled down Alexander’s cheek and his lips puckered downwards as he choked out "I thought you were…you were dead...I thought I had lost you forever."  


"Mr. Hamilton" a man’s voice interjected. Hamilton spun his head around to see the doctor standing where Griffith had been standing moments ago. "I see you have found your friend."  


It took Alexander a little while to fully function again. He had been seeing only Laurens's face, how his eyes leaked, how his lips trembled when he talked, and how his eyes screamed the words he was too weak to say. All his senses were too busy for him to notice when the doctor had walked in.  


"Can I talk to you in private, Mr. Hamilton?"  


Alexander nodded before turning back to Laurens and loosening his hand. “I won't be but a moment” Alexander said, and placed a kiss on his forehead before following the doctor.  
When Alexander and the doctor were out in the hallway, he began. “Doctor, where did you find him? Is he going to recover? I must take him into my care. He must have more comfort to properly recuperate. Can I –“  


"Ah, Mr. Hamilton." The doctor cut him off, drawing his hands in front of him. "You must let me speak first. Your friend has been with us for a little over a month now, and no matter how much we tried, he wouldn't utter a word about his name or address or any of his friends and family. At first I thought he might be too weak to say anything. But then his health started to get worse and I had to ask him for a name, any name. He uttered only a few words – your name, 'Alexander Hamilton'. These were the only words we could get out of him in all these days of his stay here. You are well known here, so of course I knew who he was talking about, and I sent for you. I know you are a busy man, and if it inconveniences you, you have my apologies, but it seemed absolutely necessary. No matter what we do, he is not getting any better than this – occasional fever, weakness and vomiting. All of his wounds and infections are almost healed; all that are noticeable now are the scars –“  


“Scars…but Doctor, he just talked to me; you said he didn’t say anything except for my name before…?”  


“Perhaps the sight of a familiar face helped. He is given his medicine regularly, and healthy food, but..." the doctor shrugged his shoulders.  


"Doctor, if there is no sickness, will you permit me to take him home? If I hire a nurse, will that be enough?"  


"Honestly, Mr. Hamilton, I think all he needs now is the comfort of home and peace of mind. Which I am sure you will be able to provide."  


* * *

_He was lying on the ground, a terrible pain in the side he had been lying on. The sound of boots falling on the mud loudly broke the silence. His heart skipped a bit as he saw flashes of red. He wanted to get up and run, but as he tried to sit up, the force of gravity pulled him down and the pain forced him to stay still. No sound came out when he opened his mouth and tried to scream. His breath stuck in his throat, desperately trying to break free._  


John’s eyes shot open, and he found a hand on his shoulder, soothing him. A sigh of relief left his chest as he found himself still lying in the hospital cot. He looked up to see Alexander, a panicked look on his face, probably mirroring his expression.  


"Are you alright, Laurens?"  


Laurens let out a breath and thumped his head back on his pillow. "Quite alright. Nightmare," he said, panting lightly.  


Alexander withdrew his hand, and John silently grieved the loss of warmth. His features relaxed, a mild smile played on his lips. "What do you say about coming home with me, Laurens?"  


John grimaced as he tried to sit up but failed. Alexander left his seat hastily to help him sit up. He clutched one of John’s hands and put another on his back supporting him, stopping him from slumping down again. With a wince, John sat up, leaning against the wall. "What do you mean, Alexander?"  


"My home," said Alexander, as he took his seat again by the cot. "The doctor says you need the comfort of home."  


"Alexander…I am perfectly alright being here. As soon as I am healthy again, I will look for work and repay the good doctor who has been so kind to treat me for free all these days. I couldn't possibly be a nuisance at your house, although I thank you for your kind offer, my friend."  


Alexander leaned forward slightly and took his hand in his. “My dear Laurens, you are my closest friend, and always will be. How could you ever be a nuisance to me?”  


“You are a busy man now; you have no time to tend to a crippled man. Besides, I don't want to inconvenience your wife and children.”  


“You are _not_ crippled, Laurens. You are the bravest man I know; you are merely weak now, that’s all. With proper care and treatment, you will be back on your feet in no time. And how dare you accuse my Betsey of being a termagant?”  


“I didn't –", Laurens started to protest, when he noticed an amused smirk on Alexander’s face; he hadn't lost his sense of humor.  


“Betsey is the kindest soul you will ever meet. She will be so glad to see you, Laurens. And I can promise you on her behalf that it will not inconvenience us even a little." John kept looking at Hamilton with a fond expression while he spoke. "Please, Laurens. Let me take care of you when you are in need. It's the least I can do. I won't be able to sleep at night if I leave you here. I have lost you once; I don't think I will able to forgive myself if anything happens to you now." Alexander raised his eyebrow, awaiting John’s answer. "Besides, my mistress won't keep me alive when she hears you are back and I didn't bring you home with me", he added with a chuckle. "You must say yes if you want to see me alive."  


Laurens smiled. "Well, I can't say no to that, can I?"  


* * *

Exactly what had awakened him, John couldn't tell, but he felt a ticklish air on his head like theghost of a warm touch. He blinked his eyes open. The room was dark, apart from the moonlight coming through the window.  


"I am sorry, have I woken you?"  


John turned to find Alexander smiling hesitantly down upon him. He was seated on a stool beside John's bed. The bed, in which he was now sleeping so peacefully, was in Alexander’s guest room.  
"Alexander," said John, mirroring Alexander's smile. "I thought you had gone to bed."  


"I had some work left to complete."  


"Have you finished your work then?"  


"Yes, it's all done."  


Alexander beamed at him, like he couldn't stop smiling and had just decided to stop trying to refrain from it. John couldn't help but huff an audible laugh in confusion and adoration. "Should I ask what you are doing here, instead of retiring to your bed?"  


Alexander looked down as if he were shy. “I finished my work and came here to check on you, to see if you needed anything. But you were sleeping so peacefully, like you hadn't slept well for years –"  


"True, I haven't."  


"I let myself in to see you again, take you in, and I...couldn't leave." They were close enough not to mind or expect apologies for entering each other's bedroom without permission. Alexander looked up as he continued. "I feel like if I leave and go to sleep, when I wake up you'll be gone...you will vanish. And it will all turn out to be a dream...a very lovely dream."  


John reached a hand out to him. Taking the sign, Alexander came to sit on the edge of the bed and leaned down slightly. John cupped Alexander’s cheek with one hand and rubbed his thumb gently over his cheek. "But I am not going anywhere. I will not vanish. I am here." Alexander clutched John's hand on his cheek. "There hasn't been a day I didn't think about you, Alexander," John added.  


There was silence while John noticed moisture gathering in Alexander's eyes.  


"Do you promise to never leave me again?" said Alexander with a shaky voice.  


"I promise," John answered firmly.  


"When you left for South Carolina, even with the fear of losing you, I held onto a hope that someday...one day you would come back...you would come back to me. I wrote and wrote to you, but your replies were so stiff, I feared you had grown tired of my affection. But for me, it has always been more than friendship for you. So I wrote; killing my vanity, I wrote. Some letters I didn't even send, afraid it would be too much and praying you would know the words anyway." The disobedient teardrops rolled down Alexander’s cheek, glistening in the moonlight.  


"I am so very sorry, my dear Alexander, for making you feel this way, but my affection for you never faded for a moment. I did not reply much; I couldn't. I was afraid the letters would fall into the wrong hands, what with the chaotic situation we were in. And I couldn't bear to write anything else if I couldn't write down my true sentiments, my affection for you, how I mourned your absence and how I craved to see those eyes again." This brought a smile to Alexander's face. "Don't you ever doubt my affection for you, Alexander Hamilton, don't you doubt it for a second."  


Alexander clutched his eyes closed, a soft smile of relief playing on his lips. John brought his face down and placed a soft kiss on his forehead. John felt Alexander letting out a sigh at the touch; the warm breath brushed his lips and cheek.  


Alexander pulled back to look at John. "Are you going to tell me where you spent the past years?"  


"Would you mind terribly if I tell you some other time? I want to forget about it, at least for tonight and indulge in your presence, _take you in_." John beamed at him.  


"That's fine with me." Alexander smiled back.  


"You should go get some rest; I can see the dark circles under your eyes." Alexander looked down again and hesitated. "Oh I get it, you are afraid I will vanish," John added in a sing-song voice. Alexander chuckled, still looking down, and John saw a tint of pink on his cheeks. "Why don't you sleep here tonight? The bed is big enough for both of us."  


Alexander nodded; lifting the blanket, he tucked himself in beside John. "You will be comfortable with me being here, will you not?"  


"Won't be the first time sharing a room with you," John joked. "Relax, as I said, the bed is big enough for two people."  


Alexander hummed his agreement to that. John could tell how tired Alexander was when his head touched the pillow; he was trying hard to keep his eyes open.  


"When was the last time you slept?"  


"I can't remember..." Alexander replied a few moments later, his voice hoarse with fatigue. John smiled softly. Alexander looked into his eyes, blinking frequently, fighting his heavy eyelids, and laced his fingers between John's. "You're here…you are here," he mumbled.  


John brushed Alexander's loose locks away from his face and rested a hand on his cheek. "Go to sleep, Alexander."  


Alexander gave in and let his eyes close. John felt his breathing even out, his lips parting slightly. And before John knew, he drifted off to sleep as well.  


* * *

As predicted, John began to gain his health back as the days went by. The nurse that Alexander had hired showed up the next day and took care of John all day. Plenty of healthy food, proper care and the comforts of home were all that it took. But the strong and sturdy John that Alexander knew was yet to return. Every now and then Alexander would hear him flinch, and when he shot a look of concern, John would hide the pain with that amazing smile of his; he could hide so well.  


Alexander left the house every morning before John woke up, giving strict orders to the nurse concerning John's meals. He came home late in the evening and had supper with John. Usually they took a walk in the garden in the twilight hour after dinner, recalling their time together. Then Alexander would go to his study, firmly ordering John to go to bed straightaway. It wouldn't be until late in the night when Alexander would slip into the bed beside John, trying to be as quiet as possible and not to wake him, and knowing Alexander, John knew how hard it was for him to be quiet.  


John was awoken one night by a hand curling gingerly around his waist from behind. He shifted at the touch and felt the hand quickly jerking away in a flash like it was never there. John reached back without turning around and found Alexander's hand – cold and ink-stained from all the writing he had been doing. John gently pulled Alexander's hand and put it back in its previous position. That was the first morning he woke to find Alexander in bed, fast asleep, in the same position but closer still; his chest now pressed against John's back, and his breath, deep and even, brushing against his neck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seems like a little one shot, doesn't it? S**t's gonna go down.  
> Just you wait  
> .  
> .  
> .  
> Just you waiiiiiiiiit
> 
> Title is from 'Snake Eyes' by Mumford & Sons (go listen to it if you haven't yet!). It was previously named 'Like A Jealous Lover', but then I decided to change it.  
> I started writing this to distract myself when I was going through stuff - I would write before dozing off, never intending to post it anywhere, but then I looked at the word count and it was 23k - so I'm sorry if it's shitty! And history buffs please don't kill me!  
> Kudos and comments are appreciated!


	2. ...and Serenity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _He gave Alexander the impression of a sunflower, soaking the last rays of the sun in before it went down, as if it was the only power source he had. Alexander smiled mildly at the thought, his gaze never leaving John’s face; he was as pure and beautiful as a sunflower, always facing towards the sun._
> 
> _"I haven’t been this tranquil in a long time." said John, with his eyes still closed, his deep baritone voice giving the scene a godly effect._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for indication of torture and non-graphic description of wounds; nothing too disturbing I promise.

“Mary?” John called out for the nurse as he put on a banyan over his shirt one morning.

“Mary…” he called again as loudly as his frail health would allow him, which was not very loud.

He never had to call her before; she knew when John woke up and it was past his bath time now. He walked out of his room with some difficulty, grabbing the doorframe and the wall for support, and stood at the top of the stairs. Clutching the railing, he leaned on it a bit as he called out for Mary yet again.

Almost immediately Alexander walked out of his study, which was situated opposite the guest room, dressed comfortably in a bottle green banyan, his glasses at the tip of his nose. It was not usual for Alexander to be home at this hour, so it was bit of a surprise for John to see him - a _pleasant_ surprise.

John smiled. “Good morning.”

“’Morning, John. Looking for Mary?” Alexander smiled back.

“Yes, she is supposed to prepare my bath.”

“I’m afraid she’s not here. She had to leave this morning.”

John’s brows knitted in concern. “Is she alright?”

“Yes, yes, she’s alright. Her mother is not, however. So I sent her home in haste before she could notify me of her routine.”

John knew what a warmhearted man Alexander was - big-headed though he might be at times - and how he valued family above all, perhaps because he had lost his at a very young age.

“Oh, that’s alright then. I’ll just see about it myself.” John said casually, waving his hands and turning around to go back to his room.

Alexander shook his head dismissively as he crossed his arms. “Nonsense. I won’t allow it, what with your health. I am to take care of you today. That is specifically why I didn’t go to the firm.”

John stopped on his way to his room and turned around to look at Alexander. “Alexander…you shouldn’t really skip your work to look after me. I’m perfectly capable of looking after myself now.” As if to prove how wrong he was, he wobbled a little and quickly caught hold of the doorframe as he struggled to stand still.

“You are not, yet. And I’m not skipping anything, I can get as much done at home.”

John opened his mouth to protest but Alexander cut him off by walking up to him and wrapping an arm around him. He walked him towards the bathroom. “Now, I don’t want to hear any more objections. Let’s get you bathed, Laurens” said Alexander, chuckling slightly.

Approximately ten minutes later John and Alexander could be found in the bathroom, the tub half filled with hot water, soap and towels in place, extra water in bowls beside the tub with a small mug.

Alexander took off his banyan, hung it on the rack by the door and rolled his shirt sleeves up to his elbows; the little belly that he had was quite visible over his fitted waistcoat. He turned to find John shedding his shirt with much difficulty. Alexander walked over to him and helped him strip totally- that was when he saw it.

“Dear Lord…” Alexander hissed.

John’s back was revealed for Alexander to see, and he was met with a series of scars, most of which were healed, but they still made Alexander shudder. An involuntary gasp left his lips at the sight. Black and blue skin could be seen at various places all over his back that looked painful. He wasn't aware that John was hiding so much behind the many layers of his shirts and coats. His fingers hovered over the scattered scars all over his torso and landed on a particularly nasty and puckered bit of skin near the end of his abdomen, on his side. “Is this where you were shot?”

“It looked much worse earlier, trust me” said John, chuckling bitterly.

So many thoughts went through his mind that he couldn’t decide which to articulate first; rather, Alexander tucked them all into the back of his mind and thought it best to keep quiet.

John didn’t shoot him any hesitant look before stripping down completely. It wouldn’t be the first time Alexander seeing him naked; army men were so used to getting nude in front of fellow soldiers, though his and Alexander’s relation was beyond the one that fellow army men shared, but John was always confident with his body. _And so he should be, with such a physique_ \- thought Alexander. Even now when he hadn’t properly recovered, he was elegant in all his glory. The deep curve of his waist and his broad shoulders would put any wrestler to shame, as well as the lean but muscular thighs that Alexander so admired. His prominent clavicles led to a freckled chest and tightly-packed abdomen.

Alexander caught himself before his gaze slid down any further, so as not to make John uncomfortable. He had no reason to be in the bathroom now; John was as much aware of this fact as he was. Yet he didn't complain, for reasons unknown to Alexander. Mary usually set the water and toiletries and stayed out until John called her to help him dress. But Alexander didn’t want John to struggle with getting out of his clothes or getting in and out of the tub; even if it was for only one day, he would give him a struggle-free bath, when he could just relax and let Alexander take care of him.

Alexander felt guilty for not being able to take care of John himself. He had promised he would take care of his friend, hadn't he? He wasn't going to miss the chance.

Alexander's thumb roamed over an almost healed wound lightly as he asked in a low voice, "How...?" He couldn’t bring himself to complete the question, but John knew what he was asking about.

"I had to make my way out of my circumstances, Alexander. A few wounds were inevitable."

Alexander hummed in acknowledgement; of course, he found the answer unsatisfactory; he needed more details. But he decided to let it rest for now. "Is the nurse looking after it?"

"Yes, she is. And it's healing quite well, I think."

Alexander hummed again before saying "Come on, get into the tub." Alexander helped him into the tub, and once he was settled, knelt down beside it and said, “Is the water warm enough?”

"Just enough, thank you." John closed his eyes as the warm water embraced him.

Alexander gently untied John’s hair out of its loose pony tail as he rested his head on the edge of the tub. Alexander ran his figures through the dark curly hair, making John hum - a silent request for him to continue. "I'm sorry I don't get to take care of you much. I know I promised I would look after you..."

"And you are" said John firmly, opening his eyes and looking directly at Alexander, their faces inches apart. “I know you are busy, Alexander. What you are doing for me is more than any blood brother would have done, and I’ll forever be grateful for that.”

“I would do anything to come to your aid, John.”

“I know.” And he smiled that sweet, innocent smile that hadn’t changed since the first time Alexander saw it.

Amiable silence fell as Alexander and John just stared at each other with soft smiles plastered upon their faces before Alexander said, “Will you tell me what happened to you? How you got back?”

The smile on John’s face drained away and a shadow passed over it. He looked away for a second, huffing out a sigh, then looked back at Alexander and forced a smile. “You’re not going to leave it be, are you?”

Hamilton chuckled. “You don’t have to tell me if it pains you in any way. I am merely curious to listen to the adventurous story of one valiant John Laurens.”

John beamed at him. “It didn’t feel very adventurous then.”

“It never does.”

John let out a deep breath and looked straight ahead absentmindedly before beginning his story, “Well, as you know I was shot from the saddle in the Battle of the Combahee River. My horse ran away, leaving me lying flat on the ground. I just lay there, on soil dampened with my own blood, waiting for oblivion to consume me. But it did not. The pain only accumulated. God knows how much time went by while I lay there screaming at the top of my lungs, until I lost all energy to continue. And consciousness drifted away. I had never been more ready to accept death, if that’s what I had to do to make the pain go away.  
“When I regained my consciousness, it took me a while to realize that I was, in fact, alive and had a burning sensation on the left side of my waist where I was shot. I had also hit my head when I fell off my horse, and it ached tremendously.  
“I found myself lying on a hard wooden floor in a room with so little light that I couldn’t make out what it was – soldiers in American militia uniform swirled around my feeble figure. I later found out I was actually among the captured American soldiers and was kept on a disabled ship with them. In that moment, however, I couldn’t focus on anything but the pain, and I whimpered pathetically, begging them to put me out of my misery. Nobody granted my wish…  
“A commotion caught my attention and I could only hear broken sentences. Now that I think about it, it was a man who was asking the British guards for the kit he required to dress my wounds. ‘He will not live otherwise!’ he yelled at them, ‘he has already lost a lot of blood as it is! Have you no mercy!’ He was an army-doctor.  
“I imagine the guards took mercy at last because I remember crying pitifully because of the terrible poking pain on my side – I didn’t have the energy left in me to scream. My wounds were wrapped with bandages and I was fed by the same man. How many hours or days had passed, I could not tell, for my mind only focused on the pain.” John winced a little, but caught himself quickly – he didn’t want Alexander to notice. “I can’t quite remember what they told me, all I know is this: I was somehow ushered out of the ship in the middle of the night, the doctor whispering something about trying not to be seen in my ear. And then I heard shouting; the doctor shoved me forward screaming, ‘Run!’. So I ran, without ever glancing back. I do not know for how long, or what became of the good man who rescued me. I collapsed at one point; the sun had begun to rise, and my sore legs couldn’t carry me anymore. I lay on my back, panting heavily as if I couldn’t take enough air in, feeling soft grass beneath me and looking up at the blue sky. I felt damp on my side, but I couldn’t care less, my eyelids felt heavy and I let my eyes close.” John paused to look at his friend.

Alexander’s eyes prickled with tears; he couldn’t stand the image of his brave, strong Laurens, lying on the ground, helpless. He sniffled and looked at John, safe with him now. He wanted to embrace his friend and never let go, he would always protect him and never let him feel that way again. “Then?” he asked, with a broken voice.

“When I was conscious again, I found myself on a battered cot. A little boy ran out of the room calling for his mother as he detected me opening my eyes. He had found me unconscious on the spot and had fetched his father, who was a baker in the small village, to take me home – they later elucidated. “The baker was not too happy about it all, seeing as they weren’t very prosperous. His wife and son, however, were very kind.”

“Why didn’t you send for me right then?” demanded Alexander. 

“Ah, my dear lad, that’s where it all went wrong.” A sad smile appeared on his face as he looked away. “I had temporarily lost my memory, it would seem. I couldn’t remember anything, no mattered how much I tried, prior to when I woke up at the captured ship. I couldn’t even remember my name or who I was. The little boy just started calling me Martin randomly.” John snickered at the memory; Alexander smiled mildly to match him. His fingers never stopped running through John’s hair. “When I was strong enough to stand, I started helping the baker with his work for free – he said he needed assistance. And then one night, a couple months later, I broke out in a cold sweat and woke up panting with all my memories stored here again.” He chuckled, pointing at his head with his index finger. “I had to start working to pay the debt to the baker. Although his wife thought it unnecessary, the baker didn’t utter a word when I offered to repay him. I’m not saying it’s a bad thing; they looked after me and it was right of him to expect me to repay them somehow. So I worked here and there for a few months until I’d earned a meaningful sum to repay the baker and find my way to New York. By the time I arrived in the city, I was too weak to continue and collapsed on my way to an inn. Two men found me and escorted to the good doctor. I wanted to leave the hospital as soon as possible, for I hadn’t much money left, though I didn’t have the strength to verbally express my wish. But the doctor said I had infected my wounds and was too weak to leave, and that I shouldn’t worry about paying him, since he would treat me for free. I knew they would ask for my identity and if I said my name they would know who I was and contact my father; I didn’t want that. But I longed to see your face, my friend.” John smiled up at Alexander and he mirrored the expression. “So I did give them a name.”

“And here you are.” said Alexander, smiling softly down at him.

“And here I am” John replied.

“Although you could have just written to me from the baker’s house! I would cross oceans to rescue you, you know that.”

“I was already a nuisance there; I didn’t want to trouble you, too. I thought once I came to New York I could find my own way, but…”

“And that you will, when you are well enough. I myself will help you find work, John. You are qualified enough. You are brilliant.”

“Then I can finally get my own place and repay you and the doctor.”

Alexander’s stomach dropped at the thought of John leaving him again, but that was going to happen eventually. Alexander couldn’t expect him to stay with him forever. He could only delay the departure. “You can stay as long as it requires, my Laurens. And please, I beg of you, do not insult me by even mentioning repaying me ever again.” He heard his own voice sound hurt. John’s eyebrows creased in concern as he shook his head and opened his mouth to apologize. But Hamilton cut him off, “Don’t worry about the doctor either, I took care of that.”

John’s lips trembled as a single drop of tear rolled down his cheek. “Alexander…” he breathed out.

“Shhhh…” Alexander kissed his temple and pressed his forehead against John’s, closing his eyes, breathing in the same air, while John clutched Alexander’s hand on his head and sniffled.

* * *

Alexander spent the rest of the day, and the next two days, tending John until Mary showed up informing him that her mother had pulled through. In answer to Alexander’s further inquiry, she stated that she was just suffering from light fever.

Mary’s return was appreciated by John, and silently mourned by Alexander. Clearly Alexander had finally started to let go of his guilt of not being able to take care of John by himself. But for John, that was another case. As much as he enjoyed the company and attention of his best friend, he started to grow a little guilt of his own for keeping him from his work, especially knowing the workaholic that Alexander was. He was unaware of the fact, or was reluctant to admit, that Alexander enjoyed his company just as much, and if there was one thing that he would leave his work for, it was John Laurens.

The evening of Mary’s return found John and Alexander strolling in the garden at a slow pace, after dinner, John’s hand curled around Alexander’s elbow as he was supported by his friend. This was a routine, Alexander’s way of helping John exercise, keeping his body from getting rusty.

“Let me sit down for a moment” said John, after a while.

Alexander sat him down on a bench and seated himself beside him. They both gazed at the horizon where the sun could be seen fading out. Alexander looked back at John, with John’s eyes still at the horizon; it might have been the trick of the fading light but John’s skin seemed to be gleaming, the freckles peppered over it keeping it from actually becoming a light source. Alexander stared in awe at the sheer beauty of his friend without blinking.

John closed his eyes and took a deep breath, letting it out audibly, attracting Alexander’s attention to his full lips. He gave Alexander the impression of a sunflower, soaking the last rays of the sun in before it went down, as if it’s the only power source he had. Alexander smiled mildly at the thought, his gaze never leaving John’s face; he was as pure and beautiful as a sunflower, always facing towards the sun.

“I haven’t been this tranquil in a long time” said John, with his eyes still closed, his deep baritone voice giving the scene a godly effect.

“I know” Alexander replied in a murmur, as he laced his fingers with John’s and with his other hand palmed their intertwined fingers and rubbed his thumb over it gently.

John smiled and opened his eyes to look at his friend now. “Thank you, Alexander…for everything. You have my sincere gratitude.”

Alexander smiled back. “Don’t mention it. Although I can’t say it’s totally selfless. I relish in your presence, and I am afraid you have spoiled me, my friend. Now I am not sure I can let you go that easily.”

John chuckled. “You will tire of me one of these days.”

“The sun shall not rise that day.”

A comfortable silence settled as the mild breeze made their untied hair wave with the matching rhythm of the wind, and John restored his gaze towards the sun. “Have you written to your wife?”

Right, he had a wife…and a child whom he loved dearly. It was not the time before the war, it was _after_. And they both had families. It wasn’t just the two of them anymore. Since John’s arrival, Alexander couldn’t remember the last time he had thought of his wife - he was so intoxicated in John’s presence. John had that power over him - he could not help but admit that - the power to hold his full attention and make him forget about everything else. When John was with him, the world only revolved around him. It made Alexander wonder if he had this effect on anyone else. Perhaps not. Alexander claimed to love his dear friend the most; no one could hold a candle to his affection for John.

John looked back at him when he didn’t get an answer. Alexander composed his features and forced a smile. “I have written to her once last week, she hasn’t written back. I suppose she is too preoccupied. I am not complaining; quite the contrary, I am glad if she is enjoying herself. She deserves it.”

“Well, that’s nice. I look forward to meeting her, if you would let me, that is.” John joked.

“Why, I would love you to, she would be genuinely happy. I will tell her about you in the next letter.”

“Do.”

“I know she will like you very much, and would be eager to meet you.”

* * *

As good as his words, Alexander wrote to his wife the next day, even though she hadn’t answered his last letter, portraying all the details of rescuing John. Two days later, Alexander received two letters, one for him, and John Laurens’ name written in his wife’s handwriting on the other. John read his letter aloud as Alexander chuckled in adoration at his wife’s excitement, and how astounded she was to get the news. She had strictly instructed Alexander not to let his friend go until she was able to meet him or until he was fully recovered.

“Best of wives…” said Alexander, as he lowered his letter onto the table.

“Has she written when she will return?” said John from across the table where he was seated, his breakfast half eaten and forgotten in front of him. It was one of the few days on which John had decided to wake up earlier than usual to catch his friend at the breakfast table.

Alexander put his glasses back on the bridge of his nose and scanned the letter. “No, she hasn’t.” He put down the letter again to look back at John. “But the way she has written, I am sure it won’t be long ‘till you get to meet her and my little boy.” He added, grinning at John.

Alexander left for work soon after, telling John to finish his breakfast, and came back later than usual that night to find John already retired to his bed. Without bothering to have dinner, he took off his boots and coats, and curled up against John’s back. John hummed in half-consciousness and turned around to tangle his fingers in Alexander’s hair, which felt soft under his touch. Alexander’s hand wandered around John’s slim waist as he pressed his head against his chest and drifted off to sleep. The brilliant mind of his finally shut down at John’s obvious display of affection; when they were last together they had a war to worry about. Now, in John’s arms, he didn’t need to worry about anything. Alexander’s mind had never been this tranquil either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (It's 4 in the morning and I have bloodshot eyes... what am I doing with my life???)
> 
> Kudos and comments are appreciated!


	3. Guilt upon Conscience, Rust upon Iron

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _To the world, John Laurens was dead. Alexander had no one to share him with. The idea of the path of a life that once seemed impossible to him started to lure him in again._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Praying forgiveness for historical inaccuracy!

"May I come in?" said John, knocking on the slightly ajar door of Alexander's study and peeking inside.

Alexander looked up from his papers to find John standing at the door, waiting for Alexander to permit him to enter.

"John", said Alexander. "Yes, of course. You don't need my permission to come in." He smiled amiably.

John smiled and walked inside with a relaxed pace, one hand cupped in another behind him. Looking around the room, John hummed. "So this is where the magic happens, huh?"

"No, _this_ is where the magic happens." said Alexander pointing at his own temple with his slender pointer finger, making John chuckle.

"Still pompous", he said, primarily to himself.

"I'm afraid I can't help it." Alexander smirked.

"Not that I am complaining."

"No?"

"No, I prefer my lawyers a bit arrogant." John held his gaze and grinned.

There was a moment of silence before Alexander chuckled and said, "True, you have to be a bit full of yourself if you want to make a change, especially if you are a bastard and an immigrant." John knitted his brows and opened his mouth to protest, but before he could say anything Alexander cut him off. "Anyway, what about you? Have you any plans for when you gain your health back?"

John let out a heavy breath; Alexander probably already knew the things he wanted to tell him. John thought it better to let it drop, as Alexander clearly wanted to change the subject. But he wasn’t asking him just for the sake of changing the subject; the curiosity in his eyes was genuine. "You know me, Alexander; have I ever stopped? I intend to fulfill the tasks I had taken in hand before my…” Unable to find any other word, he added, “… _fall_."

Alexander gazed at John with admiration, a smile of pride tugged at the corner of his lips. It had not escaped his notice that John was a changed man after his return; he wasn't as brusque as he used to be, and he talked much less. Alexander had assumed the exhaustion and defeat had finally marred his lively soul. He would be lying if he said it didn't disappoint him a little. Yet, he still held him dear. John might have changed, but nothing in this whole wide world could change Alexander’s affection for his dear friend, though he regretted the loss of the passionate spirit that he so admired, not for his own, but for John's sake, and prayed for its return. And his prayer was heard. John had not changed, only his way of holding himself had. Hamilton smiled proudly. "I should expect no less from you, Laurens. I know you were born for greatness." He received a bright smile from John in return to his compliment.

"Has your father written you? He must be over the moon", Alexander added moments later. He looked up as John delayed in delivering his answer, and frowned. "Is everything quite alright, Laurens?" he said when he found John hesitating and breaking eye contact.

"Alexander...” John finally spoke, his voice low. “No one knows I am alive.” He paused for a moment. “No one…except you. And now your wife."

Alexander's jaw dropped and in a millisecond all sorts of thoughts crossed his mind. Why wouldn't John inform his own father that he had practically come back from the dead, and tell his friend instead? Was he trying to conceal himself from his father? Was he trying to hide from other people too? Was he on the run from something? What could he have possibly done that he needed to be hiding from? Had he committed a crime? But Laurens wouldn't, he _couldn't_. But Alexander knew that if he had, he would still save John without giving it a second thought. No matter how terrible that crime might be. If that was the case, John came to _him_ ; the notion spread warmth in his chest. John had come to him; only he knew he was alive. Only he. The upside of having no one know your existence was that you could start your life all over again. To the world, John Laurens was dead. Alexander had no one to share him with. The idea of the path of a life that once seemed impossible to him started to lure him in again; unlike before, he now had a fair bit of fortune and position. He could make the choices he was too afraid to make before. "What do you mean? Why?" he asks finally.

John hesitated again. "Alexander, I don't know how to explain this...you know how my father is. I don't know if I want to go back to that life."

Alexander did know how Laurens’s father was - he wasn’t altogether a bad man, but he was, at least towards his son, emphatic. Always imposing his decisions on John, trying to bind him with his principles, unwilling to accept that John was a grown man and had the right to do what he desired. Still, Alexander couldn’t deny that the man at least deserved to know the truth. "But surely, you must let him know. You won't necessarily have to go back to him. But you must admit he has a right to know that his son is alive...” Alexander’s gaze dropped, his voice a little low when he spoke next. “So does your wife."

John huffed, a sad smile on his lips, and looked down as well. "Martha..." John uttered a single word, staring at the blazing fire of the fireplace absentmindedly. Alexander couldn't tell what thoughts or emotions were going through his mind, but affection probably wasn’t one of them. "Martha deserves to know. I haven't been the most dutiful of husbands... or fathers."

 _Pity? No, guilt_ — Alexander thought to himself. He hated to see his friend suffer and feel this way when he had no reason to…or did he? Alexander shook the thought away — even if he had reasons to feel he was at fault, John didn’t deserve to feel this way, after all he had been through, just for being the person that he was. "Do you not wish to see your daughter?" he asked, looking up to see the expression on John’s face, and dreading the answer for a reason he feared to acknowledge.

Still staring at the fire, John raised his eyebrows, as if he just remembered his daughter. "I do...I do wish to see her. I’ve never seen her, you know."

Alexander looked down at his hands, his fingers clutching the quill that had stopped mid-sentence; a single drop of ink fell on the paper. He would probably have to rewrite the whole page. 

He was being selfish. He wanted John to himself. And John wanting to see his family meant he had to let him go. An ocean away…to London. Alexander wasn't sure he was ready to give him up just yet. But then the image of Phillip floated into his mind, his little boy, his whole world, and he put himself in John's position. John had never even seen his daughter; how hard it must have been for him.

Alexander looked up and found John looking back at him. He took out a fresh piece of parchment from the pile of papers on his desk and placed it in front of the chair opposite him. Taking out another quill from his desk drawer, Alexander raised it, pointing at John. "Write to her."

"To whom?"

"Your wife, of course."

Shifting in his place, John opened his mouth to say something but closed it again. He gradually walked to the desk; his fingers hovered over the quill as he sat down on the chair opposite Alexander. "What do I write? ‘Surprise, I’m back from the dead!’?"

"You can write whatever you wish to write, she's your wife, she will understand," Alexander said soothingly.

John let out a cheerless chuckle. "I doubt that very much", he said, leaning back on the chair. "We didn't spend a very long time together, you see. Then she wrote a few times when I came back to America; I wrote back. Then one letter a month became one letter a year, then none...I doubt she knows me at all, nor can I take pride in knowing her very well. The person who knows me the best is you, Alexander."

Alexander smiled mildly, a bit too glad. "And I cherish that knowledge, my friend." John smiled back at him. The air between them thickened, Alexander had to break eye contact to look at the fire instead because he could not ask the question he was about to while looking John in the eye. "Do you not love your wife anymore?"

"Anymore....I wonder if I ever loved her. The thought makes me hate myself so much but ‘tis true. I cared for her...I presume I still do, but if the sentiment that I have come to know as love is correct, then no, that's not the sentiment I feel for her, never have."

"Why marry her then if you didn't love her?"

"Not all of us are lucky enough to be at liberty to marry the love of our lives like you, Alex.”

Alexander’s stomach dropped, he couldn’t tell if it was a reaction to the use of the rare nickname or the statement attached to it. He looked at John to find him looking straight back at him, despair and hurt clearly visible on his expression, and somewhere in there Alexander thought he saw a touch of anger, directed towards him...the kind of anger that you could only direct towards the ones you held dear when they disappoint you. That left Alexander befuddled. “Marriage was a matter of social bonding for me, my friend.” John broke eye contact, started fiddling with the quill that Alexander had just given him, and looked at the wall behind him. “There may come a time when every maiden is at her freewill to choose her own husband and vice versa, but for now…it still so happens that the family chooses your wife and you ought to learn to love her. And if you’ve never known real love, but you’re loyal to your spouse, you might go to your grave without ever even knowing that you don’t know love…the sweet and bitter taste of it. It’s sad. But what’s sadder is that if you do find love after your family chooses your spouse for you, and you can’t have them.”

John looked down and he paused for a moment, his lips a thin line. “To answer your question, I married her because my father told me to...I never thought about what I wanted, if Martha knew of my indifference, what _she_ might want — I didn't give it a thought. I feel so guilty sometimes, _so guilty_.” His voice shook. “I don't think I have the strength to write her a letter now. I have wronged her in so many ways. I am a terrible person." John put the quill down on the table with needless force.

"You are not!” Alexander was quick to reply, his voice firm. “John Laurens, you are the best and bravest man I have ever known. You have done nothing wrong."

"Haven't I, Alexander?” spat John as he leaned on the table slightly to emphasize his aggravation. “Can you not think of the things that I have done wrong? The— the sins that I have committed? Or are you just deliberately choosing to be ignorant about it?"

Alexander looked down at John’s hands, clutched into fists upon the desk now, trembling, his knuckles white from the pressure. He looked back up into his eyes, they were burning with annoyance; he wasn’t sure if it were the trick of the light from the fire beside them but for a moment Alexander saw his eyes glistening with moisture.

Alexander realized now what he was talking about. When he talked again he found his voice shaking with alarm and urgency. "John, that wasn't you alone..."

"Sharing the wrong-doing doesn't make me any less of a sinner, Alexander," John said in one breath and pushed himself up from the chair with his hands now flat on the desk, giving Alexander the impression of a very unhealthy man who looked older than his age. “I should go. Goodnight, Alexander.” And without waiting for Alexander’s reply, Laurens left the room.

* * *

Hours later John could be seen tossing and turning in his bed; sleep seemed impossible to get as rusty old memories clouded his mind. The right side of his bed remained cold that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)  
> .  
> .  
> .  
> ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)  
> .  
> .  
> .  
> now I know John Laurens and Martha Manning's wasn't exactly an arranged marriage. But in this fic it is ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯  
> sorry for late update if anyone was waiting.  
> leave kudos and comments if you like!


	4. Rusty Old Memory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“The less light the better.” John had whispered._   
>  _“But the crinkling of the fire might help die down the sound.” Alexander had suggested. “And we’ll get cold.”_   
>  _“It won’t much. About getting cold though, I won’t let you get cold, my dear.”_

_It would often get too warm in the windowless huts when the sun was high in the sky in springtime, not stiflingly so, but warm enough to cause discomfort. The nights were rather cool. The wooden huts were initially made to shelter the soldiers from the wretched winter; hence the obstruction. There were talks of cutting windows into the huts, now that it was finally springtime; the news made the soldiers heave a sigh of relief. But the scrawny soldier, who inhabited the hut at the farthest left and shared it with his dear friend, reckoned they were the only ones who were actually glad for the lack of windows, for it concealed them from the world as a ragged blanket lay underneath his knees and he clutched his lover’s backside with desperation and hummed, eyes closed in concentration; because they were not sure they could manage windows with flaps that were not transparent or netted._

_Alexander had heard the news of the windows before John had, and he had seen the color drain from John’s face when the realization had dawned upon him. They could choose not to cut windows on their hut, it was not a big deal, but it would seem odd, people might question. “We shall tell them we’re too cold-hearted to feel warm in this hut.” John had joked, when Alexander mentioned that, and the conversation had died there with a hesitant laugh from both of them. Because they knew neither would do that.  
Conversing about these matters had never been easy. Especially when the persons engaged in the conversation naively prided themselves on their masculinity and their lacking of gentle sentiments. “Just two friends fooling around, keeping each other warm in cold and lonely nights.” Alexander had said after the first night spent in a drunken haze and John had agreed saying, “Yes. I am not homosexual.” He didn’t know exactly why he had felt the need to state that. Alexander had only smiled softly and turned around to finish his writing._

_They had not given the matter of the windows much thought. There was a silent agreement of enjoying the privacy while it lasted between the two men. So, now there they were. A low moan escaped John’s lips, as if in response to the sweet sounds that Alexander was making for him. He was finding it rather difficult to sit straight on the cot with Alexander knelt between his legs. They both knew they had to restrain from making any sound, but risked a few anyway, hoping it would get mistaken as the hissing of the wind._

_John looked down at his lover in the vague light of the moon as it seeped into the hut through the gaps between the planks. They had put out the candles and the fire of their makeshift fireplace._ _“The less light the better.” John had whispered._  
_“But the crinkling of the fire might help die down the sound.” Alexander had suggested. “And we’ll get cold.”_  
_“It won’t much. About getting cold though, I won’t let you get cold, my dear.” said John, not in a seductive way, but with sincerity on his face. It made Alexander blush bright red anyway, and John had earned a sweet smile from him which he adored. John’s loving comments were rare._

_He cradled Alexander’s face and tugged gently, urging him to come up. Alexander’s brows knitted as he put a hand over John’s and rubbed his thumb tenderly, still suckling the head of his erection, protesting in silence that he was not yet done down there. But a few more bobbing and John knew he would be a goner. John huffed out a small laugh that came out as a gasp as Alexander popped his manhood out of his mouth and looked up at him through those thick eyelashes, panting slightly with his mouth open, lips swollen, red and glistening with the mixture of spit and pre-cum,_ his _pre-cum, eyes hooded with want and pupils dilated._

 _Cold caught John’s sensitive wet skin and he silently mourned the loss of the warmth of his friend’s mouth. Alexander took the sign and rose from his knees with a wince and awkwardly crawled onto the cot lightly pushing John down to lay flat on the thin layers of mattress in the process._

_The cot was John’s. It was small and poorly built, and it was clearly not made to hold two full-grown and somewhat healthy men while they rutted vigorously. The joints had gone loose and it creaked helplessly through most nights. Alexander’s cot was rarely used. He would usually stay up late and when he would come to their hut to retire for the night, he would know whether or not to use his cot judging by John’s sleeping figure. John would sleep flat on his stomach, sprawled on the bed, facing the wooden wall, half of his face covered with the thin blanket, his feet dangling out of the cot for the cot was too short in length for his tall figure; and Alexander would wrap his own blanket around himself contemplating what might have happened. Sometimes it was just John’s mood, sometimes it was his religious upbringing agonizing his mind, and sometimes it was the realization that death might await them that he felt the need to be left alone. Sometimes Alexander would hear sobbing and wouldn’t dare ask why. But most days, John would sleep on his side, the other side of the cot left cold and somehow inviting. Alexander would take his blanket and crawl onto the bed from behind John and wrap a hand around him, kissing the back of his neck, radiating warmth and love. But on nights like these, they would take Alexander’s mattress and lay it atop John’s in their fruitless endeavor to make it a bit more comfortable. The mattresses were thin; barely thicker in depth than their blankets. But they were grateful for them, for some of the soldiers didn’t even have that. Something was better than nothing. They did not own any pillow though. They would fold their shirts and put it under their head- mostly John’s head. And the blankets would come to better use than just to keep them warm._

_The dim light coming from outside was enough for John to see Alexander’s flushed face, his big doey eyes now narrow and lips slightly apart; Alexander was simply beautiful. John rubbed his thumb on his cheek fondly, admiring him for a moment; closing his eyes Alexander tilted his head to the touch. “Are you cold now?” John whispered. “Not really.” said Alexander, his voice harsh from his activity earlier. The sheer heat of his voice sent a rush of blood to John’s groin. In desperate need for friction, he bucked his hips up, urging Alexander. His eyes fluttered shut for a moment, but he needed to see his lover’s beautiful face, so he kept them open. Taking the sign Alexander started grinding torturously slow while placing soft wet kisses all over his neck and his bare chest. John managed to reach down and pick up the ignored blanket lying on the tent floor beside their cot and spread it over Alexander’s bare back. He felt him smiling against the hollow of his clavicle. He knew that Alexander was aware of why he always covered themselves with a blanket or whatever he could find; the reason was almost irrational. John, reckless though he might be on the battlefield, never stopped stressing about someone happening on them; and to minimize the initial shock of the person was this precaution taken. Alexander, being a man of reasons, found it both silly and adorable._

_Alexander kissed his way down to his chest and stopped for a second before licking his left nipple and blowing breath on the wet skin, making John shiver and whine. John writhed under him with impatience and want as he repeated the act on his right nipple before he started suckling on the sensitive skin. John put both his hands on Alexander’s and nudged lightly, breathing out, “Up.” Alexander followed his order and looked down at John, his eyes glistening in the dark. John brought his face to his lips and placed soft kisses on both his, now closed, lids._

_Their time together was too intimate and thorough for two friends just fooling around; yet neither would admit otherwise to each other, or to themselves for that matter._

_John kissed him contently on the lips this time, sliding his tongue in and licking the inside of his lower lip and earning a moan from his friend. His hands trailed down his should, his waist to his butt cheeks, which slowed Alexander’s grinding. Alexander opened his eyes to look down at his friend and murmured, “Do you want to…” He trailed off.  
“I do.” John said with surety knowing exactly what he wanted to ask. Alexander wasted no time in spiting on his hand and taking it to hip before massaging it on his entrance. John followed suit and slickened himself as well as he could with his saliva. Straddling his lover, Alexander lifted himself up a little and pressed John’s manhood against his entrance. John nodded at him fervently and he started to lower himself slowly. John observed how Alexander’s face contorted and how his teeth gritted in his endeavor to stop himself from screaming out his lover’s name. With a low hiss, John was totally inside him. John further observed how his Alexander’s face slowly softened and his rosy lips rounded in a perfect ‘o’ as he let out a breath. And John would never forget that beautiful face._

* * *

Alexander was sat on his bed, the bed that he and Eliza shared, but the thought of Eliza far from his mind now, only the vague images from the past floated in his mind and the sensation of his friend’s soft lips on his. He knew the taste so well; he could taste it still like it was only yesterday that he had kissed him. He closed his eyes and his fingers brushed over his own lips unconsciously. Every curve of his figure, every vein and every freckle was acquainted with Alexander so well he could build a wax doll of John without throwing a glance at him, if he were an artist; he had memorized it all with the touch of his lips. Even when he was with his wife, he still longed for that touch, those loving words that were directed towards him only. His wife’s affection was merely the substitute of John’s that can never be like his, never fully satisfactory. But Eliza, the kindest soul, didn’t deserve this deceit; she deserved the priest’s devotion to his lord, the highest there was. But Alexander couldn’t give it to her, for he had given his heart to someone else long ago, which can never be retrieved.

Alexander opened his eyes with a huff and found his eyelashes damp with tears. He couldn’t say this was the first time the thought had accrued to him since John’s return, but he had pushed the thought away until now. The evening’s conversation had triggered the tarnished memories he had tucked at the back of his head for so long, and now they wouldn’t go away. Not that he wanted to erase the memories, the memories were cherished in fact, but it still hurt; a burning pain in his chest.

Alexander stood up from the bed and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands; he was afraid to go to sleep, afraid the old nightmares would clog his mind again the same way they did when he had received John’s death news. The nightmares were two sorts, one that were filled with his John’s warm smile and soft laughter and the sweet memories that they shared. Even though these were the happy ones, it still caused pain in his chest because he had thought he would never get to see that smile again- somehow these were worst. The other kind was the dark ones, in which he would see the bloodied face of his friend or him screaming for help and nobody was listening; he would wake up panting after those and Eliza would sooth him. But he never told her what the bad dreams were about. The nightmares had recently stopped when he started to drown himself in work, and he was not ready to have them again, either kind. He knew after the talk that they had, John wouldn’t want him on his bed and without him beside Alexander, the hope of a dreamless sleep was impossible. So he went to his study instead.

On his way he could see John’s bedroom door shut tight, but when he entered his study, he kept his door ajar, welcoming, should anyone need to talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was initially more detailed. But then I cut some parts cause I felt it should be this way. That's why I changed the rating to 'Mature'.
> 
> This one was kinda tough to write, I fell flat in front of the computer in frustration more than once ._. So almost every line in this chapter has some inner meanings that I hope make sense, because one of my friends is reading this fic and she didn't get them and went "pft!", then I had to explain, and she went "ooooohhh". I was frustrated because I was trying to make them as clear as possible and I felt I was failing. Alex and John think and say a lot of stupid stuff, but they are not really stupid I promise.
> 
> Posting without an editor this time, so if you find any mistakes or typos just point out.
> 
> Sorry again about the historical inaccuracies!
> 
> I'll shut up now. BYE!


	5. Wild Flowers in the Wind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Mary told me about this morning. What happened?”_   
>  _“I threw up, that is what happened.” said John, shrugging._   
>  _Alexander huffed. “No, I meant you were getting well…”_   
>  _John said looking away, “I know.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I totally stole the chapter title(and a line in this chapter) from Francis Scott Fitzgerald.

As usual, John found that Alexander had already left for work when he woke up the next day.

John walked out of his bedroom to see Alexander’s office door shut. He walked towards it; clutching the doorknob he turned it. The door swung open. Alexander didn’t lock it. John peered inside to find it empty, papers scattered all over the desk, not in the same position as he had seen it last night – John could tell. So he must have worked all night, John gathered.

He was served breakfast a little later than usual as he woke up late that morning due to the struggle to get to sleep the previous night.

“Has Hamilton had his breakfast this morning?” said he, as the maid, Becky, put the plate in front of John.

“He said he didn’t feel like eating anything and left much earlier than usual, sir.”

“Hm.” As Becky turned to leave, he added, “Can you do me a favor and fetch me some paper and ink, I need to write a letter… two letters.” he corrected himself.

“Sure, sir.”

When Becky returned with the necessary equipment to write the letters a few moments later, John set his breakfast aside and took the quill and laid a single piece of parchment in front of him.

“Will that be all?” Becky interrupted as John was getting ink on his quill.

“Oh, yes, Becky, that is all. Thank you.” John dismissed her.

He ducked down to start writing the letter and paused to think how to start it. He noticed his hand shaking slightly, and rested the side of his hand on the table carefully not to get ink on the fresh piece of parchment, and looked out of the window; it was a bright day. He felt a knot in his stomach. Deciding to ignore it he hunched down slightly to write the letters. After what felt like an eternity, but in reality it couldn’t be more than forty minutes, John was finally done writing both letters and put them in two separate envelops before scribbling down the address.

John ringed for Becky to take the letters. “Can you please post the letters for me, Becky?”

“Of course, sir.”

John handed her the letters. Before turning around and leaving, Becky placed his breakfast plate in front of him that he had almost forgotten about. He looked down at the plate that consisted of poached eggs, tomatoes, beans with toasts, which must have gone cold. He had lost his appetite long before, but now he could feel the flipping of his stomach return. To avoid throwing up, he removed his gaze from the food and looked across the table to the empty chair where Alexander usually sat for dinner. He didn’t know how he could face Alexander again, after what he had said to him last night. John felt guilty for behaving that way, as if the pile of guilt was not overflowing already. After all the things Alexander had done for him… He let him stay at his own house when John was lying helplessly on a hospital cot; his hospitality was something to be appreciated. And the least John could do was to be grateful to him forever. But instead he had tried to put the blame on him, John’s own guilt was eating him up inside and he implicated Alexander into that. For a second he had forgotten that sharing the guilt would not lessen the burn, for a second he had felt bitter… of how Alexander seemed to have forgotten everything.

Whatever they did in the past was nothing they had to dwell upon now, they did it with both of their consent – John told himself. He shouldn’t have let Alexander feel the guilt too. 

He felt pathetic. He couldn’t hold the lump in his throat down anymore. Not seeing any other way, he rushed out of the door into the lawn and threw up vigorously. He heard rushed footsteps as he clutched his belly and squeezed his eyes shut. He felt a hand on his forehead and another on his shoulder supporting him as gross liquid forced its way out of his mouth.

“Sir, you might want to sit down.” said the delicate voice of his nurse when the flow paused for a moment.

John lowered himself and another flow of vomit came out of his mouth leaving a bad taste behind. He spat out several times but it didn’t contribute much to remove the taste. 

“Mr. Laurens?” said another voice.

John had only now realized that his eyes had been closed. He opened them and looked up to the voice and found a maid offering him water. He took the glass from her and gurgled a few times before gulping a little of the water; his throat felt raw. He stood up slowly and started to head toward the door. Feeling his nurse’s hand still on his shoulder, without turning around he said, “I’m fine.” He paused as he felt his nurse removing her hand, and added, “I am just going to go upstairs and lie down.” He walked unsteadily to the staircase and gripped the railing, too weak to stand straight without support. He looked sideways to see that the nurse had never left his side and had her hands drawn out in the air in a way so she could catch John in case he stumbled. “Said I’m fine, Mary.” He said firmly.

“Sir, you’re wobbly.”

He shook his head in surrender and let Mary support him to his bedroom. She immediately left the room after putting John in bed and pulling the covers. John let his eyes shut again and rubbed the lids with his thumb and pointer figure.

Mary reentered the room moments later with a small knock on the door, a tray skillfully balanced on one hand.

“I can’t really eat anything right now.” said John, his eyes narrow and voice hoarse.

“It will help, sir, I promise. It’s only going to get worse if you dose off empty stomach.”

After much coaxing, John ate a few slices of banana and took a few sips orange juice. After pulling the curtains by John’s request, Mary left the room again closing the door and muttering, “Take rest, Mr. Laurens.”

He felt as if all the energy had left his body, and his body was sinking into the bed, taking him down below.

* * *

A knock on the door woke him. He looked up, his eyes hooded, to see someone standing on the doorway with a small tray balanced on one hand, much like this morning. Only it was not Mary carrying the tray this time, it was Alexander.

“Can I come in?” said Alexander with a hesitant smile.

John nodded slightly. “It’s your house.” said he, voice groggy with sleep. 

Alexander frowned. “It’s your room.” But the frown was quickly replaced by a small smile. “Sorry to wake you, but you need to eat.” said he as he walked to the bed, putting the tray on the nightstand and sitting down on the stool beside the bed.

“What time is it?” said John, sitting up with a groan.

“Well past evening.” John’s eyebrows rose in surprised – he had slept for a long time. Alexander paused and looked at him intently. “Mary told me about this morning. What happened?”

“I threw up, that is what happened.” said John, shrugging.

Alexander huffed. “No, I meant you were getting well…”

John said looking away, “I know.”

Both of them went quiet for a while. Alexander got the bowl of soup in his hand and raised the spoon to John’s lips; John took it in his mouth without protest. To be honest, he was hungry.

After a few spoonful of chicken soup John broke the silence. “I presume you will be happy to know that I sent the letters this morning.”

Alexander looked up in genuine curiosity. “What letters?”

“To my father… and my wife.”

Alexander was quick to look down at the bowl in his hand, but spared a glance at him for a split second, a forced smile on his lips. “That’s great then.” For some reason he ignored eye contact, and offered another spoonful.

“I would have preferred you to be there when I wrote; you are, after all, the one with orderly words, but I know you are busy.” John tried to smile at his friend, but it turned out to be a sad smile.

“You know I could have squeezed some time out for you, J, I always will.” said Alexander, now making eye contact, resting a hand over his and giving it a squeeze.

John looked at their joined hands and Alexander took his hand away in a flash, a hesitant look on his face when John looked back at him. He rearranged his features and beamed warmly, as he offered another spoonful of soup. “Come now, finish up. I don’t want to see a single drop left in this bowl. You need to gain your health back as soon as possible.”

“You trying to get rid of me?” said John jokingly.

“Quite the contrary, my friend. I want to indulge in your presence for as long as I live, I want to be beside you when you get back on your feet and do all the things that you always wished for, and want you to be there with me when I correct all the injustices in the world.” The sentence had started with a very casual tone but ended with intensity. Alexander paused while John stared at him fixedly, the emotions going through his mind impossible to read. "When you... when I thought you… that I had lost you, that _we_ had lost you, I was devastated at the injustice of it, the injustice that the God you believed in did by taking you from this Earth when you could have done so much.” said Alexander, his voice growing heavy as tears welled up in his eyes. “I mourned your death, before I drowned myself in work and told myself you wouldn't want me to waste my time in tears."

"That's right, I wouldn't. I would rather have you boasting around and help build the nation." John smiled gently.

"That's what I am doing." Another pause. "John, you had encouraged me when you were here, and then your memory had when you were gone. You have my gratitude, my dear friend. You have helped me become who I am now."

John didn't talk for a long moment, and when he did his voice was shaky. "This shouldn’t be. ‘Tis not right, Alexander.”

A shadow dawned upon Alexander’s face as he absentmindedly put the bowl of soup on the nightstand and shifted to the edge of the bed taking John’s hands in his. “What shouldn’t?”

“I shouldn’t be the reason you go on. Eliza… your son should be.”

Alexander looked down and huffed out a sad chuckle. “But they are not… you are. I tried and I can't help it. I have decided to admit it to myself; I have burdened my conscience for far too long, it cannot continue.” Two stray drops of tear rolled down his cheeks as he shook his head several times. “John, you are the reason I live. I had been living in the anticipation of seeing you on the other side; that’s why I never dreaded death. Very few of the people that I hold most dear are alive. Now that I won’t have to undergo the pain of my death to be with you again, please J, don’t deny me your love.” His eyes were wide with something close to desperation, his breathing ragged, as his grip on John’s hands tightened and tears streamed down his face.

The tears that had gathered in John’s eyes threatened to spill to match Alexander’s as John felt his lips quiver and he cradled Alexander’s face in his hands.

Alexander looked deep into John’s eyes, as if seeking permission and shifted a little closer. He saw John’s eyes soften with tears, his pupils dilated, eyebrows slightly furrowed, but his face otherwise relaxed, his lips ajar as if yearning for Alexander’s touch as he looked back at him. He leaned in submission. Letting his eyes fall shut slowly, Alexander decreased the space between them. [Their lips brushed like wild flowers in the wind](http://www.goodreads.com/quotes/755219-their-lips-brushed-like-young-wild-flowers-in-the-wind).

John’s hot breath brushed Alexander’s slightly open lips; that’s when the realization of what they were doing dawned upon him.

Opening his eyes, Alexander pulled back, increasing the space in between, and stood up, walking backwards a few steps, gazing at his friend with a blank expression all the while. John stared back at him as his hand dropped on his lap.

The corners of Alexander’s lips trembled as he said in a hushed voice, “I have so much work to do.” And like in a millisecond he left the room, leaving John blinking after him, mouth agape and heart shattering.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)


	6. Absolution

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _The idea seemed incredibly appealing and he smiled like a maniac as more tears streamed down._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've added new tags. PLEASE read them before you start reading this chapter. I don't want you babies get hurt in any way for my shitty fic.  
> I chose not to use any warning because I'm avoiding any sort of spoiler(I want it to hit you like a bus..... No, I'm kidding, I really don't.), but that does not mean that those stuff won't be in this fic.  
> Take care you beautiful people! Mama worries!

Sleep eluded John. Silent tears made a sizable round wet patch on his pillow; his eyes wide open and puffy. He did not know what to feel.

Alexander was right to stop before it happened – John told himself at first. How could John even think of giving in without thinking once about the consequences of their actions? Just the thought of that moment of slip-up made him want to scrape his skin off and end himself. Such _shame_. 

He should not have told the doctor about Alexander in the first place, he should not have accepted Alexander’s help. He should have known that the thread connecting them could never be broken, the history that they shared can never be forgotten, the sentiments could never be erased and the longing could never be satisfied. 

He should never have given in to the urge of seeing his friend again while he had been lying in the hospital cot, too weak to utter a word and desperate for comfort. 

But he knew he couldn’t help it; he was not strong that way. He was putty in Alexander’s hands; he melted at his every utterance and was weak at his every touch. He was helpless. 

After all this time it was still the same – he would _always_ give in. 

But then he felt embarrassed, _humiliated_. Because Alexander was the sensible one to back away first and John was not, because he had left the room, John didn’t. Because he had left John when John was at his most vulnerable, when he had given in. 

His body had gone limp and he lay there feeling pathetic as he sniffled every now and then. He stared blankly at the wall as all the methods that he had once worked out years ago while scratching his bloodied wounds in the dead of night in South Carolina danced through his brain. 

When his endurance was tested to the fullest, when he was stuck in the British ship, when he had lost his memories, when he was sick as a dog and had felt worthless - none of those had made him run those methods through his head; but the war had, Alexander had. 

And now a single act of slight insolence of his friend had him thinking about quietus… peace and oblivion. 

His vanity was marred. He wished he had a knife so he could listen to the almost inaudible and soothing sound of it slicing his skin – the sharp blade cutting into his soft tan skin, the thick dark-red fluid oozing out of the sides. _Such a wonderful image_. The idea felt incredibly pleasant and he smiled like a maniac as more tears streamed down. And it distracted him for a measurable amount of time as he absently shoved his shirt sleeve up and started scratching his arm, scraping his blunt fingernails over the skin, lightly at first, but the pressure gradually growing. He closed his eyes and sighed, finding serenity in the pain. Though his blunt nails didn’t do much at first, beads of blood started to appear after a while. His smile broadened as he felt moisture on his fingertips. 

* * *

John knew who it was when he heard the gentle knock on his door in the middle of the night. He turned his head towards the door from the bed and watched the doorknob turn. The door slowing swung open revealing Alexander with a candle lamp in one hand, his gaze not meeting John’s as if he were shy. He didn’t usually knock when he came in at this time of the night, but tonight he felt the need to. He flicked a glance at John, trying to read his reaction, only to find lenience in it. 

Neither of them uttered a word as Alexander walked towards the bed, shutting the door behind him, pausing once on his way in hesitation and put the lamp on the nightstand before getting under the covers with John. 

John saw his gaze travel to where the blood had seeped through the flimsy fabric of his nightshirt. He tsked and stood up again and left the room taking the lamp, only to return minutes later with a damp cloth and a little bottle of antiseptic in his hands. He sat down on the edge of the bed and John stared at him while he gently rolled John’s shirt sleeve up. John tried to muffle his wince when the cloth peeled off his scratch, it stung; shoving his sleeve down was a mistake. He’s had worse – he told himself. “Sorry.” said Alexander, for what he was not sure. John remained quiet. 

Alexander furrowed his brows as he dabbed the antiseptic on the cut and John bit his lip; somehow it hurt more than it should. 

The sight was not unfamiliar to Alexander. During the war he would sometimes enter their shared tent late at night and find John whimpering in his sleep and scratching wherever he could reach, often causing him to bleed. Alexander would wake him up, shushing soothingly and tend to him. But often he would find him doing the same while he was awake, making use of the knife sometimes. Alexander would not coo those days, he would scold, furious, but would tend to the wounds anyway, would wipe John’s tears and hold him tight through the night. 

He never asked why, Alexander would _know_. 

He knew now. 

“Haven’t gotten enough infections in your body, have you?” huffed Alexander, not meeting John’s eyes, hands gentler than his voice. John turned his head away. “Sorry.” said softly, a single teardrop rolling down the side of his face but his voice didn't shake. 

Alexander did not cup his face like he used to, didn’t wipe his tears. 

He put the wet cloth and antiseptic away and climbs back into the bed facing John, his eyes soft; he was not angry or annoyed anymore. John thought his apology was the reason why. 

They lay there in silence for a moment, John on his back, his head turned towards Alexander, and Alexander on his side, keeping the eye contact, until Alexander rested on one elbow and curled his other arm around John’s waist. He leaned down and their lips met. 

John did not panic or flinch away. He welcomed it. He knew he shouldn’t. But the sensation was so familiar. It was _home_. His eyes fluttered shut, he felt all the tension leave his body as he concentrated on his lover’s soft lips; right now it seemed like the most important job, and nothing else mattered. 

The kiss was soft and slow, Alexander’s lips felt tender on his. He nibbled at his lower lip with such care as John tangled his fingers in his soft hair, oh he knew the feeling so well. John opened his eyes just slightly to see Alexander’s face, his eyebrows raised in contentment, like he had yearned for this for centuries. 

John lowered his hand to his waist and maneuvered Alexander on top of him, breaking apart in the process. Putting both his elbows on either side of John’s head, Alexander started kissing him again, suckling at his lower lip. John parted his lips and slipped his tongue in his mouth, which Alexander welcomed by brushing it with his own. John hummed at the warmth and wetness of it. 

When they had to break apart to catch their breath, they looked into each other’s eyes, panting lightly; no words were needed to be said, the absolution visible in their eyes, no way on Earth was this a mistake. 

John lowered his gaze only to find the loose end of Alexander’s cravat. He pulled it slightly and it came off undone with one drag. He carelessly let it fall to the ground. He craned his neck to place soft kisses on Alexander’s now bare neck, and he felt Alexander hissing in his ears. “I love you so much… my dear Laurens.” murmured Alexander. 

Those were not familiar words. They had never said that, they were both careful not to say that, and both unaware of the other being aware. 

John stopped short and let his head fall back on his pillow and looked up at Alexander, moisture gathered in his eyes. “You don’t mean that...” he squeaked out as tears rolled down his sides. “But I do… Heavens I do.” said Alexander with such sincerity. “I love you, always have and always will. _Nothing_ … _nobody_ can alter that.” 

John squeezed his eyes shut to let the rest of the moisture ooze out. Alexander cupped his face with one hand and placed soft kisses on his closed eye lids. 

“Alex… I’m terrified.” John whispered. 

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to, my dear. You being aware of my sentiments for you is enough.” said Alexander, his tone tender. 

“But I want to. And that’s what scares me.” 

Alexander smiled mildly and caressed his cheek soothingly. “Then nobody needs to know.” 

The beam of the candle quivered every now and then as the night went on and the smooth sloshing of their lips grew rougher and the moans escaping their mouths slight bit louder and muffled. 

The wounded souls were recuperating.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's 3:12am so if you find any mistakes I'm sorry. Just point them out.  
> And if anyone's curious...  
> .  
> .  
> .  
> .  
> .  
> .  
> Hammy topped.


	7. Could It Be?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's short. I'm sorry. I had it keep it that way.

Whether it was for the tiredness caused by their activity or for the peace of his mind as he found absolution, John didn’t know, but after years of nightmare-filled slumbers, John slept fine that night, with Alexander pressed up against him and his arm curled around his middle from behind, spooning him, as his breath brushed the back of John’s neck. And just as John was drifting off to sleep, Alexander murmured with his nasal voice, “Good night, my dear” that sent a shiver down John’s spine. That voice echoed in his head until his mind was filled with scintillating dreams. 

The absence of the warmth beside him was why John woke up earlier than usual that morning. John half-turned and felt the bed behind him with one hand only to find it empty, the warmth of Alexander spending the night was still there - so John was sure he hadn’t dreamed it all - but vague now that he had left. 

“Alexander…” John mumbled and turned fully on the bed. He scanned the room for Alexander but he was nowhere to be seen. His gaze landed on his clothes neatly folded at the foot of the bed, and that’s when he realized he was buck naked under the blankets. The thoughts of the previous night sent blood rushing to his cheeks and made them hot. Shaking his head, he sat up and reached for the clothes. They had thrown all the clothes in different directions last night in their haste to make contact with bare skin; Alexander must have put his clothes in one place and folded them before he had left the room. The image of a very naked Alexander picking up their cloths floated into John’s mind as he blushed harder. 

He put his clothes on as fast as he could without toppling over and walked to Alexander’s room in hopes of catching him before he left. He found Alexander standing in front of a full size mirror buttoning his waist coat. He looked at John in the mirror as he noticed him standing on the doorway and beamed. John was reminded of a very young Alexander; he hadn’t seen him smile as bright for a long time. “Good morning, John. Come in.” 

“Good morning,” John smiled back and walked in. “Am I early or are you late?” 

“I am late.” said Alexander, sighing. “Look what you did.” he complained pointing at a very visible hickey on his neck. 

John turned the brightest shade of red and looked down in his futile endeavor to hide it as Alexander took the cravat from the bed and put it on, smirking, his gaze never leaving John’s reddened face. 

John finally looked up as Alexander swished his tailcoat and put it on. “As much as I would love to spend the day with you… I have to leave for work.” said Alexander, walking up to John. 

“Of course.” said John. Mere inches between them. “Have you had breakfast?” 

“I thought _I_ was the one looking after you!” said Alexander, smiling. He touched John’s arm and ran his hand up and down. “Haven’t the time, I am late already.” John opened his mouth to protest, but Alexander cut him off. “I will be sure to eat something at the firm, if that satisfies you.” said Alexander, before taking his waist with both hands and closing the distance between them; just a soft press of his lips on John’s, which quickly turned into something more intense and intimate, but not hurried. 

“I have to get going.” said Alexander once they broke apart, pressing his temple against John’s. “See you in the evening.” 

John hummed. Alexander pecked a few times on his lips before walking to the door and gazing back, just to smile and wave his hand once, and leaving. 

John couldn’t help but smile like a fool to himself, his mind too full of Alexander’s allure to make room for any qualms that might await them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm giving you fluff before the... hurricane.


	8. Watertight Excuse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Now in the cocoon that they had made, nothing seemed wrong anymore, there were only peace, indulgence and love._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mild smut in this chapter. Historical inaccuracies.
> 
> John Laurens wasn't present at Hamilton's wedding. In the musical he was, but in real life he wasn't.  
> Also, Hamilton meets Laurens before the war in the musical. But they actually met in Washington's camp...(?)  
> Well, you'll know how it is in the fic.  
> It's so confusing! I MEAN WHICH ONE SHOULD BE CONSIDERED CANON?!
> 
> Posting without an editor. Sorry for any mistakes/typos. Just point them out if you find any!
> 
> Also, here's a list of the songs I listen to while writing this fic:  
> i. Moonlight Sonata - Beethoven (+ E.S Posthumus' too!)  
> ii. I Gave You All - Mumford & Sons  
> iii. Snake Eyes - Mumford & Sons  
> iv. Elevator Song - Keaton Henson  
> v. Earnestly Yours - Keaton Henson  
> vi. Raein - Olafur Arnalds  
> vii. Castle of Glass - Linkin Park

Tears sparkled in the corners of Alexander’s eyes as he took more and more of John in his mouth, John’s gaze never leaving his. His flushed, swollen lips wrapped around John’s erection. John’s hold on his soft dark hair tightened as the head of his manhood touched the back of Alexander’s throat, and Alexander hummed in contentment, his gag reflex nonexistent. Soft groans left John’s mouth as he became desperate, in need of release, and tried hard not to thrust in his lover’s mouth. He threw his head back on the pillow, his eyes fluttering shut, his mouth falling open, his jaw slack. A croaky moan rippled through his chest. Alexander’s hand reached up to caress John’s parted lips with his thumb. John’s tongue poked out to lick the pad of his thumb as his features relaxed, raising his head a little from the pillow. He took two of Alexander’s figures in his mouth and hummed as he started suckling on them. 

Two more bobs and John came helplessly in Alexander’s mouth, his head hitting the pillow again as he moaned around Alexander’s fingers. 

Alexander swallowed what he could, and licked him clean before advancing upwards to capture John’s lips. 

John tasted himself as he slid his tongue in Alexander’s mouth. One of John’s hands tangled in Alexander’s hair and the other proceeded downwards to his groin to help him release where he found a wet patch. He broke the kiss to look down, a damp patch it was. 

“The work is done down there it would seem.” said John, smirking. 

“Shut up.” said Alexander, stifling an embarrassed chortle before slithering his tongue in his mouth again. 

It had not been the first time they had some sort of coupling after the _first night_ \- should it even be called first night? They had gone to bed together before Alexander’s marriage, before John’s disappearance, before the war and during it. The very first time they had been together, before the war, Alexander was just a boy. They had both agreed in their minds the next morning that they were just fooling around and would not continue – a silent agreement. But they did continue. They would spend their whole days together, having deep conversations about the British or the revolution or slavery, chase pretty girls or simply talk about their past. Alexander always seemed hesitant to talk to anybody else about his past, except for John; he would be open and frank and would not hesitate to shed tears when he described a particularly sensitive part. 

And then at night they couldn’t keep their hands off each other; a heated touch here, a soft kiss there, hot murmuring in each other’s ears - that would have them toppling in the same bed almost every night. 

John had ignored the building heat in his chest when he looked at Alexander, told himself it was the war, an adolescent crush that didn’t mean anything, and wondered if Alexander felt the same. But they never talked about what happened at night. They would simply wake up the next day and carry on with their work and converse with each other like nothing had changed. John was careful with his lingering glances at Alexander and congratulated himself on never getting caught. 

Then when they had joined General Washington’s staff, they started talking, but only a little, that did not clarify their thoughts. That would only clarify their need for each other, as a friend, as a means of sexual relief, not anything more. They didn’t know, they weren’t sure. They only knew they might not live to see another day, so they let themselves indulge as much as they could without getting caught. 

Every now and then they would use the word that was held too high for such a simple word - love, only lovers would know how heavy the four letter word was; but they used that word so often for all the other friends, it didn’t seem any different - in letters, in greetings, but never during their nighttime shenanigans. 

Then John had gotten the news of Alexander taking a wife. He remembered smudging the writing of the letter with his tears. He hadn’t written back. He hadn’t accepted his invitation. 

It was one thing to wrong your own wife, and another to involve someone else in your deed and in the way make them wrong their spouse. The guilt building up inside would be lethal. But now in the cocoon that they had made, nothing seemed wrong anymore, there were only peace, indulgence and love. 

* * *

The next morning John woke up to find Alexander curled up against his side, his head resting on John’s chest, and felt a tiny patch of damp on where he assumed Alexander had been drooling. They had cleaned themselves up and had put on their night gowns. 

Gingerly scratching the back of Alexander’s head, John smiled and shifted a little. He wanted to see his lover’s face. 

Alexander hummed as his hands tightened around John’s middle making John chuckle in his hair. It was the happiest he had been in years. 

“Stop drooling all over me.” said John. 

Alexander practically giggled and lifted his head up, rubbing the saliva off with the back of his hand and making John wrinkle his nose in mock disgust. He leaned down to press his forehead against John’s and sighed contently. “Good morning, my love.” And before John could wish him in return, Alexander’s lips claimed John’s. A warm sensation spread across John’s chest that he had not felt for a long time now. He kissed back, with his hand caressing Alexander’s shoulders, waist and hips. And Alexander started massaging John’s scalp lightly through his unruly curls. 

Most mornings had been this pleasant; John would wake up breathing in Alexander’s sweet odor with his nose buried in his soft hair, Alexander would kiss him good morning and leave to get ready for work. And by the time Alexander was fully dressed and came in John’s room to bid him goodbye, he would usually find John fast asleep. Alexander would press a light kiss on his temple and whisper “Goodbye, deary” and leave. 

But this morning Alexander kissed and kissed and kissed, breaking the time limit of their usual morning osculation; not that John was complaining. 

After a long, long moment of caressing each other’s lips with their own and chuckling between kisses, John stopped. “Are you not going to be late for work?” 

“What work? This is work.” said Alexander, smirking, intending to resume his activity. When John rolled his eyes, he added, “John, it’s my day-off!” 

“You usually go to work on your day-offs as well, Alexander.” John pointed out. 

“Are you trying to put me off? Bored of me already?” Alexander mock pouted. 

John chuckled at the sheer cuteness of it. “I could never get bored of you, my dear.” He pecked on his pouty lower lip, making Alexander smile. 

Alexander brushed the back of his figures on John’s cheek gently while John’s hands settled on his waist. “I have decided to take a break. Who knows how many of these mornings we are going to get.” A sad look dawned upon his face as he said that. 

John grabbed Alexander’s hand which was caressing his cheek now and brought it to his lips to press a kiss. “My dear… you can’t possibly expect this to last forever. We can never be forever.” 

A moment passed in silence. A sad smile speared on Alexander’s face. “Then let us have this day.” He leaned down to press kisses all over his lover’s face as if he was on a mission to kiss each and every freckle on his golden skin. 

That was when they heard the hurried knock on the door. 

“Don’t come in, I’m not decent!” John said. 

Alexander sprang out of the bed, glaring at John with a panicked and disgruntle look as if to yell _what the devil?!_ and wrapped the night coat around him in no time. John shrugged; he had got into a tizzy in his haste to stop whoever it was at the door from coming in. And by the time John managed to sit up, Alexander was looking for a place to hide, a silent alarmed look on his face. 

John got up and clutched Alexander’s shoulders to calm him, walking him towards the wardrobe and slid him beside it so he wasn’t in the line of vision of whoever it was at the door. “Stay here.” He mouthed. 

He finally walked up to the door and cracked it open just enough to poke only his head out. Becky was standing outside. 

“What is it?” he asked. 

“Sorry to wake you, Mr. Laurens.” John shook his head. “But the mistress has arrived, and Mr. Hamilton is neither in his room, nor in his study, and he hasn’t he gone to work this morning.” 

John’s jaw dropped and his heart fell into his stomach. “Oh,” John managed to choke out. “The mistress as in…” 

“Mrs. Hamilton, sir.” said Becky, frowning. 

“Where is she at the moment?” 

“She’s downstairs in the sitting room with Master Phillip and she wishes to see you and Mr. Hamilton.” 

“Alexander is probably in the bathroom. I’ll send him down in a minute. Why don’t you go down and see if Mrs. Hamilton needs anything.” 

He closed the door when Becky left and turned around to see Alexander leaning on the windowsill, his head pressed against the glass, his back turned to John. 

If the news of Mrs. Hamilton’s return made John’s heart drop into his stomach, he was sure his heart had shattered into a million tiny pieces when he saw the sight before him. 

John walked up to him and wrapped his hands around Alexander’s waist from behind, resting his forehead on his shoulder. Alexander leaned back a little and took one of John’s hands from where it was on his waist, lifted it up to press it against his chest and tilted his head to the side to place a kiss on his head. 

John could hear Alexander letting out soft, small sobs; he was crying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Burr voice* hey


	9. Rightfully Yours, Clandestinely Mine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I uploaded it from my phone so sorry if the format is weird. 
> 
> I could update it days ago but I haven't been able to concentrate on the editing. I'm just so upset and angry about everything that's going on in the world.
> 
> Anyway, here's the chapter. Be safe y'all.

John stood at the top of the staircase clutching the railing, fully dressed in his waistcoat and trousers. He was trying hard to pluck up the courage and go to the sitting room. He was not ready for this. He couldn’t imagine looking Mrs. Hamilton in the eye and behave normally, pretend Alexander and he hadn’t been sharing a bed for the past six weeks, pretend they hadn’t whispered things in each other’s ears that were indecent for two men to say to one another, pretend he hadn’t stolen her husband and committed sins that people dared not speak. 

_Should avoid eye contact then,_ he told himself. 

He had taken a very weepy Alexander to his and Eliza’s bedroom, wiped his tears, cleaned his tear-streaked face with a damp cloth, helped him put on clean clothes, smoothened his hair and tied it with a ribbon, and then sent him downstairs to join his missus. And then John himself had gotten dressed, taking his time with it to leave Alexander and his wife enough time for their reunion. 

He rearranged his features and descended the stairs carefully. The sitting room was along from the dining room. He halted at the door which was open and took a deep breath through his nose. 

Alexander wasn’t miserable anymore, his face was lit up. He was sitting on the sofa, a genuine bright smile on his face while a toddler on his lap giggled. Sitting beside him was a doe-eyed woman, her delicate features framed by her long, dark hair as she mumbled things to the cheerful tot. 

Alexander stood up, placing the toddle on his hip, as soon as he caught sight of John standing at the doorway. 

“John…” said he, a mild smile on his face. “My dear, this is him, John Laurens.” he told Mrs. Hamilton, his gaze never leaving John’s. 

Mrs. Hamilton’s mouth fell open and her eyes went wide with excitement as she gaped at him. “Bless my soul; God is indeed gracious!” said she, covering her mouth with her hands. She stood up and walked to him. “It’s so nice to put a face to the name, Mr. Laurens.” 

“Likewise, Mrs. Hamilton. Pleased to finally meet you. And please, call me John.” said John, taking her hand and kissing her knuckles. 

“Then you must call me Eliza, John.” John smiled and nodded as Eliza wrapped her arm around his elbow and walked him to the sofa. “I feel as if I know you already. I’ve heard so much about you! As you know, my Alexander tends to talk too much, and you are his best friends.” Eliza giggled. John sat on a single sofa across from the Hamiltons as Eliza reclaimed her sit beside her husband. 

“Yes, I know.” John chuckled knowingly. “He wouldn’t shut up about you in the letters that he wrote me, and, of course, during my stay here.” It wasn’t a lie but it wasn’t wholly true. 

Alexander caught John’s eyes and he hesitated for a moment. “Phillip, _mon garçoni_ , that is Uncle John, a very dear friend of your daddy’s.” said Alexander, smiling again, pointing at John. 

Phillip had long hair like his father but his was lighter in color and had more volumes. Most features of his face were his mother’s, including his black eyes, but he had his father’s sharp nose. Despite him resembling his mother, little Phillip somehow, with his small frame and shape, looked like a miniature Alexander Hamilton. 

The toddler shoved two of his fingers in his mouth and smiled around them. “Hello.” said he with his childish voice. 

“Hello, Phillip.” said John smiling back at him. “Your boy is friendly.” said John to the couple. 

“He gets that from me.” Eliza was quick to say. 

“Sure, darling.” said Alexander, chuckling. 

“You must tell me everything, John, you—“ said Eliza before she was cut off by Alexander. 

“Now, now, Betsey, let the man breathe.” 

“Yes, of course. My apologies, John.” said Eliza, smiling and biting her tongue. John shook his head and smiled at her. “Tell me, though, are you comfortable? Is Alexander taking good care of you? I know he is barely capable of taking care of himself.” 

“True, he doesn’t take good care of himself, but when it comes to a guest, I doubt anyone can beat his hospitality and care. And yes, ma’am, I am very comfortable, a lot more comfortable than I was in the hospital, and I am grateful for everything that Alexander has done for me.” answered John. 

“That is not entirely true; my dear friend exaggerates. I have only employed a nurse to take care of him.” protested Alexander shyly. 

“He’s modest.” said John. 

“I’m sure he is, in this case, at least.” interjected Eliza. “I know how dearly he loves his friends. I was positive he would take good care of one even if he cannot take care of himself.” Eliza smiled fondly at John, thinking of John as only her husband’s friend, ignorant of all the things John and Alexander had done behind her back, had been doing. How could John let this happen… to this sweet, poor woman who was so nice to John? He felt sick to his stomach. He clutched his stomach and hunched down as waves of nausea hit. 

“Are you alright, John?” came Alexander’s concerned voice. And like in a flash he settled Philip down on the sofa and was came to crouch down in front of John, stroking his back soothingly. 

John was painfully aware of Alexander’s touch and it burned John’s skin, and he flinched away almost involuntarily. Alexander slowly put his hand down, praying Eliza hadn’t noticed anything. “Yes, yes, I am alright. I feel a little dizzy, is all.” said John. He looked at both Alexander and Eliza gaping at him with concerned eyes. “Really, I’m alright. I get like that from time to time, Alexander knows.” said he, a pained smile on his face. “I’m just going to go lie down for a bit.” 

“I’ll take you to your room.” said Alexander as John attempted to stand up but failed to and slumped down on the sofa as he screwed his eyes close. 

“No, Alexander, I am fine. I can manage.” said John sternly, ignoring the hand that Alexander had offered to help him up and managing to stand up this time on his own with the help of the sofa handle and walking away, leaving a very baffled Alexander behind. 

As John climbed the stairs he could hear the muffled conversation downstairs. 

“Has he had his breakfast, Alexander?” came Eliza’s soft voice. 

“I don’t think he has, no.” 

“Should I take it to his room?” 

“Maybe it would be wise to leave him be for a while, my dear.” 

* * *

John could sense that he had astonished Alexander, in a bad way. It was not his intention; he just couldn’t take the sight anymore – them, being a happy and perfect little family, his Alexander, content and happy with his wife and child, him, being a nuisance, a sinner man, a tiny blackhole that sucked others into his darkness, wrongdoings, and ruin people’s lives. 

John curled up a little more in the cocoon that he had made with the blankets, and let the moisture ooze out of his closed eyes that he had been fighting back for some time, sobbing inaudibly in acute self-loathing and odium. 

There was a knock on John’s door. 

“Can I come in, John?” came Eliza’s voice. 

John rubbed the tear-streaks off his face with back of his hands; he wasn’t sure how long it had been or when he had stopped crying and the tears had dried on his face. He hoped his eyes weren’t swollen and red anymore. “Of course, come in.” 

As expected, in came Eliza with a tray in her hand; John had become so accustomed to people entering his room with food trays it hardly surprised him anymore. 

“I hope you don’t mind,” said Eliza crossing the room and smiling brightly at John. 

“No, not at all, Mrs. Hamilton.” he lied. Eliza was the last person he wanted to see right now. “But you shouldn’t have, I could have gone downstairs.” said John sitting up on his bed, wincing. 

“Oh ‘tis nothing.” said she, waving her hand, a smile always on her lips. “And I thought I asked you to call me Eliza.” 

“Oh yes, of course, Eliza. I forget.” said John, returning the smile. 

That wasn’t totally true, but telling her the truth was out of the question. Calling Eliza by her name seemed friendly, frank. And John didn’t think he deserved to be frank with the wife of his lover, he didn’t want to. 

Eliza handed him the bowl of soup. “Eat.” said she in a motherly tone that seemed a little peculiar to John. “I made it myself, just for you. I don’t know what the nurse has been giving you but from now on the responsibility of your meals is mine. And you will be up on your feet in no time.” 

“Thank you, Eliza.” said John in a small voice. The bowl was warm in his hands; he lifted the spoon and took it in his mouth. “’Tis very good. Alexander wasn’t exaggerating when he praised your cooking.” 

“Oh he missed my cooking, didn’t he?” John nodded. “Thank you, by the way. I do take pride in it.” said Eliza, giggling. “Look at me bragging about myself. Alexander has tainted me it would seem.” 

“He affects everything that he touches, involuntarily I would say, it’s his nature.” 

“He sounds like a natural calamity when you put it like that.” 

John chuckled. “Isn’t he exactly that?” 

A smile slowly crept to Eliza’s lips; a knowing yet confused smile. “You know him so well, John. We share the same level of affection for our Alexander.” said she, tilting her head sideways. 

The statement was true in ways that Eliza didn’t even mean it to be. _No. It is so wrong. Not ours. Alexander is not ours _– thought John and looked down at the bowl of soup in his hands.__

“Thank you, John, for allowing him to help you. I can see how he has changed. His eyes are bright again, and smile even brighter. He was a broken man… when he thought you’d died. He wouldn’t say much, but I could tell. He worked and worked and worked…” said she, as her gaze drifted away. “I think he finds some sort of comfort in getting to help you now.” John didn’t know what to say. He refrained from looking at Eliza. “Finish up, will you? I have to feed my little tyke now.” said Eliza, patting his shoulder and smiling. 

“Thanks again, Eliza.” said John raising the bowl a little in his hands as she turned to leave. 

“Don’t mention it.” Eliza stopped at the door and turned to look at John. “It was nice talking to you, John. I can see why my Alexander holds you dear.” She smiled in a way that made John think as if she wasn’t sure of what she talking about. Then she left, closing the door behind her. 

John couldn’t breathe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know how actual Eliza was always like "my Hamilton"


	10. Paramour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _The proud, strong and pugnacious John Laurens was gone._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been listening to The Great Comet of 1812 while writing this...  
> D'X WHY IS IT SO BEAUTIFUL AND PERFECT?!

The evening walks in the garden now included Eliza, with her elbow wrapped around Alexander’s, and little Phillip, chasing bugs and running on his tiny feet before them. John usually lagged behind them and walked in a slow pace, with one hand cupping the other behind him and his gaze anywhere but on the couple. Although Alexander would often turn around and steal glances, and Eliza would sometimes follow his gaze and motion John to join them with a genuine smile. John would never join them; he would give the excuse of feeling tired and would retire for the night. 

Every minute spent in this house was discomfort, torture. John felt he would burst any moment as he faked smiles at the dinner table or while having tea in the sitting room. His chest burned every time he saw Alexander and Eliza together, and he would rush out of the room as fast as he could. 

Mornings were spent mostly in Alexander's study. Alexander had beamed when John had asked him one day if he could borrow some of his books. Alexander said he was free to borrow any book he like, and left his study unlocked everyday. John mostly took out law books. John would offer to help Eliza sometimes, but she wouldn't have it. She would walk him to the living room, and soon he would be joined by little Philip. John didn't know how he felt about that. He would hesitantly join the toddler on the floor and read whatever book he had with him. He would often find Philip crawling to come and sit on his lap and continue to play with his toys. He loved how soft and tiny he was. But he hated how domestic this looked. 

Eliza and John would often chat after lunch. The more he learnt about the woman, the more he hated himself. 

Evenings would find him sitting at the table joining Alexander and Eliza for dinner. He would plaster a smile and pretend to enjoy the conversation while it burned a hole in his chest. 

The other side of the bed had not been slept on for weeks now; not that John had been expecting it to be. 

* * *

He tore his eyes from the page of the book he had been reading to distract himself; he couldn’t say it was working. The book was not bad, but perfect little romantic novels seemed so unrealistic compared to his life now, and the book failed to hold his attention for more than thirty minutes. 

Sighing, he leaned back on the sofa in the sitting room and screwed his eyes shut as he rested his head. 

What was he doing here? He was overstaying his welcome. He should not be here; he should be in South Carolina, his home. 

But that was not home, Alexander’s embrace was home. 

But Alexander wasn’t his, he was Eliza’s now. And John was just a paramour, a blemish in his lover’s perfect life. He felt like a parasite, a nuisance, a sick dog whining for a loving pat. He felt pathetic. He had no self-respect left in him. The proud, strong and pugnacious John Laurens was gone. 

He assumed Alexander didn’t want him here anymore, why would he; he didn’t love this John Laurens, he loved the young soul he had fought alongside in the war. John should prepare to leave soon. But where would he go without Alexander’s help? 

He opened his eyes and stood up deciding to go to bed. Everyone had gone to bed hours ago. He had stayed behind in the sitting room after dinner. He didn’t like going to bed early; sleep wouldn’t come and he would be left there mulling over all the bad decisions he had made. It was not that he wasn’t drowsy, he was drowsy alright, but it was too loud in his head to get sleep. So he would try to get as tired as he could, so when his head touched the pillow he would pass out in a second. The idea hadn’t been working very well so far as Alexander and Eliza wouldn’t let him do any sort of work. 

He climbed the stairs, careful not to step on the parts that creaked. As he held the book under his arm to open his bedroom door, holding the candle holder with the other, he heard another door open behind him. He turned around to see Alexander leaving his study, glasses on the bridge of his nose. He had been working, no surprise. 

Alexander stared for a moment before smiling mildly. “You haven’t gone to bed? It’s late, John.” 

John smiled back. “No, I was reading this.” said he, holding the book in the air to show Alexander. 

Alexander walked to him and squinted his eyes to read the title. “Romantic novel isn’t what floats your boat, J.” 

“No, it doesn’t really. But your wife recommended this, so I thought I would give it a try.” 

Alexander now looked him in the eyes. “Do you like it?” 

“'Tis not bad. But not intriguing enough.” 

“Right…” 

Silence fell as they kept looking at each other with longing in their eyes. God, Alexander was breathtakingly beautiful in candlelight! The light shadowed and highlighted all the right areas of his face, making his milky skin glow; their mingled breathing making the light quiver, and it reminded John of the old days. 

“John… do you mind…” said Alexander, motion to John’s room. “do you mind if I come talk to you for a while?” 

“What do you want to talk about?” 

Alexander looked down at his feet. “Nothing... nothing in particular. I… we don’t get to talk much these days. Betsey has gone to bed a while ago.” 

John’s eyebrows furrowed. “Why would you feel the need to inform me that your wife has gone to bed, Alexander? What does that have anything to do with you and I chatting?” his voice stern. 

Alexander flinched a little, but tried hard not to let it show. He looked at his feet. “Nothing. Nothing… it’s just… we haven’t talked much in the last few weeks and… I miss my friend.” He paused. “It’s okay if you don’t want to.” He turned on his heels and started to stride to his bedroom. 

John felt bad. He grabbed Alexander’s wrist to stop him. “Alex…” Alexander turned around. “Come on in.” 

He walked his friend in, not loosening the grip on his hand, and shut the door behind them. He sat on the edge of the bed leaning on the headboard, letting his hand go in the process. 

They hadn’t talked to each other privately since Eliza’s arrival; John would wake up in the morning only to find Alexander had left for work and joined both him and Eliza for dinner. They all took the evening walk, Eliza often hung onto John’s elbow while Alexander ran around with little Phillip until John got tired and bid them goodnight. Eliza was always there... and so she should be, she's Alexander's better half. John almost feared Alexander did not care anymore now that he had gotten his wife. How could John complain… complain for the lack of attention that he didn't deserve? 

Alexander remained standing by the bed. “How are you, J?” 

“You can sit down, Alex.” Alexander came to sit down, facing John, one leg bent on the bed and the other on the ground. “I am… very well. Your wife has been taking good care of me.” said John without making eye contact. Alexander let out a long breath, making John look up at him. He found him looking out of the window, at the night sky. “We need to talk, Alexander.” 

“I should hope so.” said Alexander, in a tone that shattered John’s heart into a million pieces. 

“No, not about… that.” Alexander looked back at him. “I… would you… would you do me one last favor?” John’s voice shook. 

Alexander cradled his face, making him look at him, concern in his eyes. “Anything, my dear lad, anything.” 

“Can you find me a job… anything- clerk, gardener, anything. And then I can find a place to stay, a shoebox will do… and leave you all alone.” John’s voice was shaking uncontrollably. He was on the verge of tears. 

“You’re not well enough to start working yet, J., why are you saying all this?” Alexander asked in a hushed voice, his eyebrows furrowed with worry. 

John clutched Alexander’s shirt and hung onto it like if he let it go he would fall… fall into a pit of excruciating pain. “’Tis suffocating… I can’t breathe here, Alex, I can’t breathe.” Suddenly out of breath, he stuttered as he couldn’t stop the tears streaming down his face. 

Alexander pressed his forehead against John’s and closed his eyes. John could feel his body trembling and his lashes wet. “Shhh…” 

“I can’t- I can’t… Alex, please, grant me peace- let me-“ John stuttered and hiccuped, a weeping mess. 

“Shhh…” Alexander hushed again. 

“I can’t look into your wife’s eyes and not think of what we’ve done… not get reminded of the betrayal. And it kills me every second I spend with her.” 

“I know, I know.” whispered Alexander breathlessly. 

“This cannot continue, Alex, it cannot.” 

“Shhh…” breathed Alexander again and claimed his lips. 

John kissed back with urgency, the hand clutching his shirt lifted upwards to grasp his hair, tugging sharply and making Alexander moan. John couldn’t think of anything but those perfect soft lips on his now. Only Alexander in his mind now. Serenity. 

He realized Alexander had somehow laid him down on the bed when his back hit the soft mattress and Alexander lay between his legs. 

“Alex…” whispered John between their frantic kisses. “Alex, your wife.” John only heard a muffled ‘no’ in response, a growl- it wasn’t a no to him, it was a no to the society, to his responsibilities as a married man; he didn’t care, at least not at this moment. Nothing else mattered, except for John right now. 

Alexander trailed kisses down John’s chest, stomach and then mouthed his half-hard cock. He undid John’s breeches before yanking them down and stroking his member into full hardness, and captured his lips again as John yelped. Alexander’s touch was cold on his sensitive skin as he ran his thumb over the head and smeared the oozing pre-cum over the length. Alexander then broke the kiss, only to press a few pecks on John’s lips before loosening his own breeches. He kicked them off totally. Straddling his lover, Alexander leaned down to take John’s lips in a messy kiss. He lifted his hips up a little and with his left hand took John’s erection and pressed it against his entrance. He broke the kiss to catch his breath before he started lowering himself, tight and raw. A choking moan escaped his lips as John parted his dry rim. Alexander opened his eyes for a second and John saw tears welling up in them. Throwing his head back, Alexander lowered himself even further until he sat totally on John; the dryness hurt and fullness at the verge of being overwhelming… too much. 

It was so dry, John was afraid Alexander might bleed. But the worry went out of the window as Alexander started bouncing on him, Alexander’s own straining erection slapping on John’s belly obscenely. John clutched the side of Alexander’s hip with one hand and reached up to caress Alexander’s cheek with the other; Alexander tilted his head into the touch and groaned. John stared as a single drop of tear rolled down Alexander's cheek. His face was flushed, his hair disheveled, and he looked _oh so beautiful_ , John could stay in this moment forever, inside Alexander. John’s hand wandered further back and laced his fingers in that soft dark hair tugging gently. Alexander’s eyes rolled back in his head in pleasure as he clenched around John. John moaned in response, a throaty moan. He pulled Alexander down gently to press their lips together. They kissed messily, biting and sucking and sparing moments to gasp hot and wet into each other’s mouths. Their abdomens flushed together and Alexander’s length trapped between them would twist every now and then. It brushed in the process as John thrust into Alexander, making him grumble. 

Alexander clutched his shoulders as he broke the kiss and tucked his face in the hollow of John’s neck biting his lower lip to suppress the scream that threatened to escape his mouth. His nailes dug into the skin before he quickly removed them and clutched the bed sheet instead and a trembling pair of lips placed a soft kiss on John’s neck as an apology. 

John felt Alexander’s whole body shudder as he came smearing their stomach with his seed. The hot liquid mingled with the soft moan that came of Alexander’s mouth was too much for John to hold on any longer, and he reached his climax in Alexander with a hiss. 

They lay like that for a few moments, panting, breathing in the same air as it smelled of sweat and sex; Alexander lying limp atop John. Eventually Alexander got off of John with a wince as John slid out of him. John felt his own fluid oozing out and dripping down on his stomach mixing itself with Alexander’s waste as Alexander straddled him again to pepper him with soft kisses. 

John lay on the bed; his limbs lax as Alexander reached for his breeches and cleaned John with it before cleaning himself. 

John was careful not to make eye contact with him, he couldn’t bring himself to look into those eyes; he just did what he had said shouldn’t continue. He pulled himself up in a sitting position and pulled his breeches up while Alexander was at a loss as to what to do with his own breeches. 

“You can wear one of mine for now.” John offered. 

Nodding, Alexander walked towards the wardrobe without saying anything; John thanked the lord for his shirt being long enough to hang below his hip. 

John didn’t have many clothes of his own; he only owned the sets that Alexander had so kindly bought for him. Alexander pulled out a pair of dull brown trousers and put them on; it hung loose on his slim waist. He walked across the room hesitantly to sit on the edge of the bed again. It almost felt like a few minutes ago when he had entered his room asking how he was. How John wished it was a few minutes ago, if he could rewind time, so he wouldn’t give in, and would undo everything that had just happened. Guilt and shame and disgust built up in him again; he felt as if someone had put a stone on his chest that weighed a thousand pounds and was crushing his ribs, making it difficult for him to breathe. 

Alexander cupped his face and tugged gently to make him look at him. John looked into those big brown eyes, the eyes that spoke a thousand words without him having to utter a single word, the eyes that he had fallen in love with the minute he had realized what they were saying, the brilliance they held, those long lashes that fluttered almost dramatically slowly as he opened and closed his eyes. 

John’s eyes fluttered close as Alexander’s lips ghosted over his. "I love you so much, my _dear_ John, I hope you are aware of the depth of my love for you." murmured Alexander. 

John looked down at his lap and raised a hand to brush it against Alexander’s where it was now tangled in his hair, pressing their forehead together. “Go to your wife, Alexander.” He was ashamed to hear how small his voice was. 

“John…?” Alexander murmured, his eyes open now, hurt audible in his voice. 

“Just go.” said John before flopping on the bed, pulling the covers up and turning away from Alexander. 

“John, my love—“ Alexander began again, nudging the locks of hair that had fallen over John’s face with his fingers tenderly before John cut him. 

“Please, Alexander, just—please!” John chocked out, his voice hoarse with tears now, as Alexander jerked his hands away in apparent shock. “Just leave.” 

John heard Alexander sigh in despair and sniffle twice, he heard him shutting the door behind him, he heard his slow footsteps as it gradually became fainter, he heard another door open and then close, but he could not tell if it was the door of Alexander’s study or his bedroom. Deafening silence. And then he heard his own muffled sobs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [click here](https://pbs.twimg.com/media/COi6u2uUsAAQttj.jpg) to see an actual picture of Hammy after the... *clears throat* 
> 
>  
> 
> Also Hammy calling Laurens "J." is <3


	11. Broken Lover

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Alexander was being selfish, and he was quite aware of the fact._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's 3:17 in the morning and I'm not going to university tomorrow so I thought I would update it. so if you find any mistakes/typo i'm sorry.
> 
> i may edit/add stuff later, cause i feel like i forgot to add something i wanted in this chapter. i'll let y'all know in the notes of the next chapter if I do.

Alexander sighed as he looked around the apartment; it was decent, with two bedrooms, a dining room and a small living room, should be enough for one person. 

“Who will be staying here, Mr. Hamilton?” asked the landlord, a short man with a round face, seemed amiable enough. 

“Ah, a friend of mine.” said Alexander turning back to him. 

“Is he a bachelor?” 

Of course, John wasn’t a bachelor. He was married, he had a daughter. But they weren’t here now. Alexander didn’t know if it was right of him to tell the landlord that. “He… he is.” 

“Then he should be comfortable here.” Alexander nodded and smiled back politely. “Should I understand it final then?” 

“Yes, yes, Mr. Mason.” 

“Perfect.” said Mason, grinning; he seemed quite relieved to finally have the apartment rented. 

“When will he be moving in, Mr.…” he trailed off. 

“Laurens, that is. Mr. Laurens.” said Alexander. “I can’t tell you the exact date yet, I’m afraid. Mr. Laurens hasn’t been very well. He’s quite well now however I am not sure I can let him be on his own just yet, but he keeps insisting upon it. Some day next month I think would be wise to let him move in here.” 

John had told him with a stern face the morning after that he was serious about what he said the previous night. And now here Alexander was, a month later, looking for a decent apartment for John. 

Alexander was being selfish, and he was quite aware of the fact. He couldn’t deny that John’s health wasn’t the only reason he didn’t want to let him go. But the way John had practically ordered him to find an apartment for him or he swore to go out look for it himself… Alexander couldn’t stop him anymore. He was trying to understand how John might be feeling by putting himself in John’s shoes, and he found his reluctance to be their guest anymore justifiable. Eliza had be whining all day since he declared that John wished to be on his own now saying he was not well enough to live alone. It was Eliza who had convinced John to stay one more month. Alexander adored his wife for that, but he couldn’t allow John’s soul to break as the days went by just because he was staying with them. He would let him go, if that meant John would be happy. He would do anything for his John’s happiness, he would sacrifice anything. 

Of course Alexander had agreed to do this for John only on one condition- he would have to take the nurse with him. John was at first reluctant, saying he didn’t need to be taken care of anymore, but then fuming, he agreed. 

Alexander _was_ being selfish – he thought as he walked down the street; the cold wind making his nose and cheeks almost numb. The apartment that he had chosen for John was just few blocks away from his own house. He would let John go, but he couldn’t possibly send him far away while he still had the power to control it. He would keep him close, so he could see his face whenever he wanted to, keep an eye on him, and if John needed anything, Alexander wouldn’t be too far away. Alexander was going to be selfish as long as it didn’t affect the wellbeing of John… of anyone he loved- he corrected himself. 

He pushed open the front door, letting out a deep breath and was immediately hugged by Phillip, who was squealing “daddy” excitedly. Alexander gleamed and lifted him up to kiss his cheeks before settling him on his hip. Eliza followed close behind. Smiling, she pecked on his lips. “Good evening, my dear.” God, he loved his family, he would fight another war if he had to to get back to this same faces every day. 

Then his gaze drifted past them and landed on the person descending the stairs - his infirm figure now strong, his unruly curls tucked neatly into a ponytail, that tanned skin had lost its proper color but still had that glow. John Laurens, his friend… and something beyond. The only thing missing from that perfect face was that blinding smile that put the sun to shame, that Alexander loved so much. Oh what he would not do to bring that smile back. 

Instead John’s lips curled into a small smile as he caught Alexander’s eye; he looked almost doleful. 

Eliza had been taking such good care of him; she wanted him to be strong and healthy before he left. And he looked stronger, healthier but somehow more broken than Alexander had ever seen him, not even when he went to pick him up from the hospital. He loved this man, and it crushed him to see him in this state and realizing that the person who caused his melancholia is Alexander himself. The mere thought of it and the feeling of his son in his arms and his wife beside him made him want to run, away from all this, and just keep running until his feet bled and he buried himself in self-loathing and sleep and drift into oblivion- that seemed like a better option than standing here bearing this stone in his chest. 

“Are you quite alright, dear?” said Eliza, pressing a soft hand on Alexander’s temple. “Are you getting a cold? You know how you are when winter is approaching?” 

That snapped him out of his thoughts; he realized he had been staring at John all the while; John was frowning and was now at the foot of the staircase. He broke the eye contact and smiled at Eliza. “My wife worries too much.” He reached up for her hand on his forehead and kissed it. He didn’t dare to look at John when he finally registered his obvious display of affection to his wife in front of his broken lover. That was usual these days though, Alexander would often avoid John’s gaze; he could not look into those warm hazel eyes (the eyes that reminded him of the clear water of a stream that he couldn’t remember exactly where he had seen – the water that made a soothing mellow sound as it flowed) and not dive into them.  
They would just talk business nowadays – how the search for the apartment was going, what jobs he could do. Alexander had offered John a position in the firm and convinced him that it would be the most convenient job for him; he was to join in a month or so, after he got settled in his new apartment. 

Alexander told both John and Eliza about the apartment over dinner that night. John’s reaction to that was unreadable, he only looked up once and smiled at him that didn’t quite reach his eyes and then looked down at his plate and spent the rest of the dinner in the same fashion. 

Alexander feared his lover was broken beyond repair, _he_ had broken his lover. 

* * *

“I don’t understand why he has to go.” said Eliza, whining a little from their bed as Alexander entered the room. 

“Who does, my dear?” asked Alexander absentmindedly as he took his waistcoat off and was on his way to put on his nightgown. 

“Your Laurens, Alexander.” Alexander jerked his head around to look at his wife – a million thoughts passing through his mind in a second – and stared at his wife, mouth agape until she spoke again. “I don’t think he is well enough to live alone.” 

Alexander rearranged his features and started looking for his nightgown again. “He will not be on his own, I am sending the nurse.” 

Eliza glared at his husband as he joined her on the bed. “Oh that nurse doesn’t know what she is doing half the time.” 

“We can’t always keep him here, Betsey.” said Alexander staring at the ceiling as Eliza rested her head on his chest. 

“I’m not saying we should keep him here forever, just till he recovers properly. It has only been- what, three months since he has arrived?” 

“Might have been a little longer than that.” A picture of a thin figure lying in the hospital cot flashed in his mind, and his skin rose into gooseflesh; it all seemed like a lifetime ago. The string of memories that followed was inevitable. “We have to let him go I’m afraid.” **I** _have to let him go_. “He is a war veteran, Betsey, he is too proud to live under another man’s roof for too long.” 

“I don’t understand men.” said Eliza, propping herself up on an elbow. “They are all the same.” 

“Too proud?” offered Alexander. 

“Too stupid!” said Eliza giggling. 

Eliza leaned down to press a series of kisses down his neck after kissing him on the lips. An involuntary sigh escaped Alexander’s mouth as he screwed his eyes shut, a lump formed in his throat. He felt pathetic, lying under his wife while she displayed her affection- his sweet, innocent wife, who was unaware of all the wrongs he had done – he has given, not only his body, but his heart to another man – while his John lay in his bed just across the hallway, alone, no one to keep him warm in the cold night. Alexander had wronged both of them – the people he loved the most in this world. 

The tears welling up under his shut lids finally rolled down his sides as he opened his eyes, making Eliza halt in her track of kisses and look up. 

“Alexander, what is wrong?” said Eliza, sounding concerned. 

He opened his eyes to see his wife’s alarmed face. He rubbed the heels of his palm over his eyes. “Nothing… I’m just so tired, Betsey.” He was, in every senses of the word. “I apologize.” He lifted his hands to cup Eliza’s face and brought her down to kiss her. 

Eliza broke the kiss, still looking confused and concerned. “Are you sure you’re alright, my love?” 

“Yes,” said he. 

“If you’re tired-“ 

Before she could finish, Alexander had flipped them and pinned her down on the bed. He screwed his eyes shut again and prayed that John wasn’t awake still.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pls don't hate Hammy


	12. Oh Sinnerman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Guilt was the feeling they both shared, but not regret, never regret._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey look who's updating instead of reading freaking Shakespeare for her intro to drama class tomorrow!

“Oh, Mrs. Barrett has invited me for tea party.” said Eliza, scanning the invitation letter in her hand at the breakfast table. 

Alexander looked at her, munching on a piece of toast. It was one of the few Sundays he had decided to stay home. 

“This afternoon. Do you think she would mind if I take Phillip with me?” Eliza wondered aloud. 

“Well, she has children, has she not?” 

“Three of them, little munchkins!” said Eliza. “Right, I don’t think she would mind, Phillip can play with them.” 

Alexander’s gaze darted to his silent friend – who was sitting across from him and had been mutely finishing his breakfast – only to find him already watching him; his face downwards with his eyes upwards looking at Alexander, his expression cryptic. After a few seconds of a staring game, while Eliza neatly wrote her reply, Alexander broke the eye contact and looked at his wife. “You still don’t trust me with Phillip.” said Alexander, smiling mildly; it wasn’t a question. 

Eliza blushed, her high cheekbones red, for getting caught by her husband, and shook her head. “’Tis not how you think it is, Alexander. You work so much, you lose yourself in it, while Phillip is still very young and needs someone’s full attention.” 

Alexander rested his hand on her and continued smiling. “’Tis fine, Betsey, I understand.” Eliza smiled in relief. “Thank you.” 

* * *

They went to church after breakfast, John joining them for the first time. 

Alexander watched discreetly as John knelt down, his hands together under his nose and his eyes shut tight as he prayed for a long while. 

Alexander dedicated the rest of the day to his son; the discussion at the table in the morning, though he knew it to be true, hurt just a little. He played with Phillip for hours, sitting cross-legged on the carpet in the living room with Phillip’s toys scattered in front of them, and realized how it did not exhaust him a bit - he could spend the rest of his life seeing Phillip smile and giggle; he would work harder for his son to get the things he didn’t get – while John sat on a single sofa, a book opened halfway in his hands and conversed with Eliza every now and then, who was sitting on the loveseat, legs up on it elegantly and one elbow resting on the armrest, watching her husband and son playing and giggling every so often when either of them said something funny. Soon John and Eliza started talking about gardening. John was telling her how his mother would teach him little things about how to look after plants when he was very young. Eliza asked for his advice and they eventually left Alexander alone playing with Phillip and went to the garden. 

Alexander didn’t know what to make of the furtive glances of his friend at the table while they had lunch. Or he knew exactly what it meant and chose not to admit it. He had noticed that John’s cravat was absent now, he was wearing a sleeve-less coat over his white shirt and a few strands of hair were out of his ponytail, which he had tucked behind his ear- making Alexander want to run his tongue over the soft skin where the pointy ends of the strands were poking. 

The sleeves of his shirts had mud stains which he had gotten from working at the garden and had probably tried to scrub off with just water, though it hadn’t really worked, leaving faint brown spots here and there on his shirt. 

“I hope I didn’t exhaust you?” asked Eliza, smiling apologetically. 

“Oh no, not at all, it was an absolute pleasure.” John smiled back politely. “I just need to change my clothes though I think.” 

“I didn’t know you gardened.” said Alexander, finally meeting his eyes and holding the gaze for more than a second. 

“You never inquired.” said John. 

* * *

When he finally kissed Eliza goodbye and shut the front door behind her and Phillip, he leaned against the door and took a few deep breaths through his mouth before he all but ran up the stairs. He tried to steady his breathing as he tapped twice on the door with his knuckles… on John’s door. He took his time to turn the doorknob and pushed it a little so it swung open dramatically slowly to reveal John standing stiff in the middle of the room, he looked hesitant but eager. 

Alexander’s heart beat so fast and rang so loud in his ears he was afraid John could hear it too. Last time was not planned; Alexander hadn’t planned to bed John then. Alexander had thought he might have made a mistake, that he had hurt John. John, who always sought absolution, had probably found it again. 

Alexander remembered to push the door shut behind him before he saw John advancing towards him. He met him halfway and wasted no time in capturing his lips in a fierce kiss; hands roaming all over the body and grabbing at each other’s many layers of clothing as they fell one by one on the floor, forgotten, until they had nothing but the breeches on. 

By the time John’s back hit the floor by the fireplace, Alexander was suckling on the spot he had been longing to- the soft skin just below John’s left ear. John groaned, deep in his throat, screwing his eyes shut, and tilted his head to the right, providing Alexander with more space to put his mark on. A sizable love mark appeared when Alexander decided to leave the place and run his tongue over his whole torso. 

Guilt was the feeling they both shared, but not regret, never regret. Alexander did not regret loving John, he did not regret _this_. So when it had been months since they could even make eye contact properly because of the guilt that was eating them up, they were both aware of how thirsty they had gotten for each other’s touch. … 

No words were uttered as they lay side by side on the floor, nude and sore, basking in the afterglow, breathing now steady, and staring idly at the fire of the fireplace. 

“I can’t think of anything to say.” said Alexander, breaking the silence. John hummed in reply. “That’s not true,” added Alexander a few seconds later. “There are a lot of things that I need to say, but I cannot seem to find the words.” 

“Alexander Hamilton- speechless, look at that.” John snorted. 

Alexander chuckled, turning to lie on his belly, and lifted his head to rest his chin on John’s shoulder. “You make me speechless.” He leaned down to place soft kisses on his lips, John kissed back, soft and slow, the urgency gone, the hunger, the lust in them gone; just the tender brushing of one’s lips on the other’s, just sensing each other’s presence, breathing in their love for each other. 

“What of this?” asked John, when they finally broke apart. “What do we do to fix this?” 

Alexander slumped down on the floor but kept their eyes locked. “There is no way to fix this, John, because this is not a broken object that can be fixed. I would never fix myself for loving you.” His tone just a little annoyed. 

“But this _is_ a fault.” 

“We are not at fault for loving each other, John, the society is for compelling us to lurk in the shadow while–” 

John cut him off, smiling bitterly. “There, my friend, we will always disagree.” 

Anger and annoyance bubbled up in Alexander’s chest. “So how do you want me to _fix_ this?” said Alexander through gritted teeth. “Confess to Betsey how I have been committing adultery with my best friend all this time, and maybe write a pamphlet describing our coupling during the wartime?” 

John looked down. “No. It would break her.” 

“And _us_.” 

Alexander turned his head facing away from John in his sulk. He puffed out hot breaths as he heard John sighing, his breathing even. 

“Alexander…” came John’s soft voice moments later. He reached his hand out to turn Alexander’s face towards him, their eyes met. “This cannot stop, can it? _We_ cannot…” 

“I cannot possibly stop loving you, John Laurens,” his voice tender now. “the Earth shall stop spinning and I shall stop breathing the day I do.” 

John turned on his side to face his lover fully as Alexander cupped his cheek, rubbing his thumb lightly over his prominent freckled cheekbone. “I…” said John, his voice small, but trailed off and looked down anywhere but his eyes. 

“What makes you afraid, my love?” asked Alexander, his voice soft and patient now. “What makes you afraid to say it?” 

Letting out a long sigh, John looked into his eyes. “I don’t have the right to say it, Alexander.” 

“Why not?” 

“Don’t pretend you don’t know why.” His voice a little annoyed. “You know damn well why. You are too brilliant not to know why I have never said it.” 

Alexander knew. “Not admitting to it is playing safe.” 

“You make it sound like a court case.” A silence fell as they stared intently into each other’s eyes. “The chain wrapped around my heart, squeezing it, making it bleed, stops me from saying it, Alex. Because it is against God for one man to love another, because I have grown up learning it is a sin for me to say it, because I do not even want to admit it to myself, because I am afraid of… afraid of loving you, because it is only your wife’s right to say it, because she is unknowingly sharing you with me when it shouldn’t be this way.” 

“My dear lad… yet you do let yourself indulge in another man’s company, you do go against God, yet you do… love me and take the share.” 

“I’m a sinner.” 

“Then how come it all feels _so right_ when I am with you…?” He sighed. “If loving you is a sin, I shall die without ever asking for forgiveness.” 

This time it was John who leaned in for a kiss, and Alexander gladly welcomed it. As his eyes fluttered close he could hear John mumbling softly and almost inaudibly between kisses, and Alexander felt his chest grown warm and light. “I do… I love you… _je t’aime_ – I love you… love... _Alex_...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my [twitter](https://twitter.com/meth_shorna) and [tumblr](http://steady-little-soldier.tumblr.com/) if anyone wants to come and say hi or ask something.
> 
> do I need to translate the French? y'all know what je t'aime means.


	13. A Ghost From The Past

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there's a mention of polygamy. i have very vague idea about when and where it is/became illegal, sorry if i'm wrong, and i don't mean to offend anyone in any way. 
> 
> late update. it's gonna be like this from now on i guess cause i got a lot of s**ts to do(assignments, quizzes and stuff. not to mention the whole damn play that i have to rewrite and put on in ten days I'M SCREAMING I'M SO STRESSED) and also because i had 9 chapters written in advance when i started uploading here but now i only have 3 (but that does not mean that i don't know yet how the story will end, i have everything planned, what happens after what, i just need to write it down), so i'll be trying to write a few more in advance.
> 
> didn't edit the chapter. sorry if there are any mistakes.

John was well aware of the fact that Alexander never doubted his proficiency, but he himself knew that he was a teensy bit rusty after so many years out of practice, and he could use a little help to sharpen his brains. Therefore John could often be seen in Alexander’s study the following weeks as Alexander explained some of his cases and small things to him. John had started helping Alexander a little with his cases for a bit of practice before he was to join him at the firm. They would depart late at night, bidding goodnight with a lingering peck or two on the lips if there was no one around. 

“Would it have helped if I went back to South Carolina?” asked John out of the blue one evening. Alexander was taken aback and looked up at him with wide eyes. When he didn’t reply for a long while, John, looking away, continued, “It would be easy to forget me if I weren’t always before you to remind you of my existence.” 

When Alexander spoke next, he spoke through gritted teeth. “I will never allow you to go back to that manipulative–“ 

“Watch your mouth, Alexander.” John warned. “He may not be a saint but he is my father and I respect and love him. I have shared my thoughts with you but that does not give you the permission to disrespect my father.” 

Alexander’s expression softened a little. “I did not intend to disrespect him or to offend you, John, I apologize if I have. But you cannot go back, John! This is ridiculous!” said Alexander, dropping his hands on the desk in astonishment. “How can you even entertain the possibility that after all you have been through to avoid such circumstances I would allow you to go back?! You said so yourself that you came to New York because you did not wish to go to him…” Alexander fixated him as John looked down, fidgeting in his seat a little. “I will lose sleep if you go back.” When John didn’t respond, Alexander continued. “Never again propose such outrageous suggestions, John. The conversation ends here.” 

John understood why Alexander reacted the way he had. It was not a ridiculous idea to go back to his father - that was how it was supposed to be. But Alexander couldn’t stand the idea of parting with John when John didn’t want to go there. But John would have gone if that meant he could save his friend from committing sin repeatedly. 

Very few nights passed in which Alexander didn’t sneak out of his room to join John in bed while the whole house was deep in slumber. They did not talk about it, save for the slow murmurs of praise and want into each other’s ears. 

They did not always sleep together. Some nights were spent with the two of them just talking about anything; they would laugh and giggle and then hush each other for the nights were quiet. Eliza had walked out into the hallway one night when she found the bed empty and had run into her husband asking where he had been. “I could not sleep. I thought of finishing some work in advance.” Alexander had lied. Eliza scolded him in a hushed voice for prioritizing work over basic human needs and, taking his hand, walked him to their room. But Eliza’s sleepy mind couldn’t work out what her husband was doing standing stiff across from his office door. 

John heard the whole conversation through the closed door of his room and heaved a sigh of relief when Eliza didn’t inquire further. They would have to be more careful. 

* * *

John leaned against the window of his bedroom in his new apartment; the view was nothing like his home back in South Carolina, but after the war, the occasional sound of the coaches’ wheels and the mild commotion of people were more peaceful than he could have asked for. He was grateful for it. 

The apartment was already furnished and as he didn’t have much of his own at the Hamiltons’ house, it would only take two trips from there to here for the two of them to get all of his belongings in his new home; the second trip they would be making tomorrow and John would finally settle down. Of course Alexander had volunteered to help; he was now just behind him, unwrapping the little furniture that the bedroom had. 

“I really appreciate you doing this, you have my sincere gratitude, my friend.” said John when Alexander joined him by the window. 

“’Tis not a problem.” said Alexander shrugging; drawing circles on John’s back absentmindedly while looking out of the window. 

“And thank you for… understanding and not making me stay there.” Alexander rested his hand on John’s shoulder; squeezing it he smiled a closed-mouth smile in reply. John retraced his gaze to look outside. “We won’t be far away.” 

“I know.” The hand on John’s shoulder slipped down a bit and was rubbing in soothing circles again. “I will visit you often, and you know you are always welcome to my house whenever you feel like it, at any hour, do not think twice. And of course we will see each other at the office.” John didn’t look back at Alexander for a long time, didn’t answer, his gaze blank, but when he did look back at him, he smiled, not very heartily. “You still let the guilt eat you up.” It was a statement rather than a question. 

John looked away again and took a deep breath in before starting to talk. “It’s a kind of feeling that shouldn’t be. It still hurts when… when I see you with your wife, guilt, of course, because of the treachery... But that feeling is dominated by another now that is not right…” 

“John… I have to play my part.” 

John shook his head. “I know… but admitting how wrong it is of me to be covetous doesn’t stop the feeling.” John looked Alexander straight into his eyes, and Alexander saw a touch of irritation in them. “Why can’t you be mine? Only mine… wholly?” 

Alexander's hand went round John's neck, turning him, and he leaned forward to press his forehead against his. "My dear... I can't be wholly yours as you can't be mine, because the world forbids us... when it has no right to." John was silent and was slightly shivering. He let his eyes fall close. Alexander knew he held other views on that matter, on which they would never agree. He was aware his long talks would not influence John as they would have worked on his wife or anyone else so perfectly. Because John was unlike anyone else, he was not to be persuaded that easily; it was one of the qualities that made him stand out from everybody else initially to Alexander. They agreed on almost everything, and held almost the same views save for a few; the frustration of not being able to persuade John had soon turned into attraction, then affection. "Despite my love for Schuyler, I have given my heart to you wholly long before Schuyler and I became acquainted. My soul is yours wholly, my dear, and that is why it yearns your touch so torturously in your absence. Maybe in another life, in another century I will be yours... all yours. We can lie in the sun and kiss and scream _‘je t’aime’_ at the top of our lungs and no one shall say anything against us. We won't have to hide in the dark rooms, and it won't be called a sin." 

John snorted. "Do not get your hopes up too high, Alexander, if it is a sin now, it will be a sin forever." 

"Polygamy is looked down upon now, it shall soon be illegal from what I’ve heard, but it was not always this way. You have to think beyond tomorrow to settle that, my love." 

"Do you have a comeback for everything I say?" 

"I am a lawyer, ‘tis my job." said Alexander, making John chuckle. “And so will yours.” 

“Do you think I am ready?” 

“You are as ready as you will ever be. You will do great, John.” 

John grinned cheekily that slowly turned into a smug. “What can I say, my teacher is the best there is.” he said with a low voice. 

God if that didn’t do things to Alexander; his breath hitched. “By Jove, Laurens…” And without warning, he pulled John in for a passionate kiss. 

The lack of mattress on the bed didn’t stop Alexander from pining John down on the bed and tease him until he sobbed, begging for mercy. Alexander granted the plea and brushed his prostate with every thrust. John came, slathering cum between them, arching off the hard wood, providing Alexander with more space to put his mark on, like a tiger marking its territory. 

When they returned home in time for dinner, John had hid the little red marks on his neck with his cravat and had tied his hair again with a ribbon as neatly as he could. 

Alexander practically ran upstairs to change before his wife could see him and greet him with a kiss and smell semen on him, leaving John shaking his head and smiling to himself behind. 

“John!” exclaimed Eliza, making John stop in his tracks, running up the stairs to grab his hand. Her eyes round and wide with excitement and a blinding smile on her face showing her pearl white teeth to match her eyes. She tugged him. “You must come to the sitting room this instant! Someone is here to see you!” 

John couldn’t help but chuckle at her excitement - she looked like a toddler who had just gotten a bag full of candies - until he heard the last line. 

Who could be here to see him? Almost four months of his stay here, and nobody had visited him – and without a letter too; and very few people knew he was alive… that was when it hit him- it could only be either of the two people John didn’t want to see right when he was tidying up his life. The smile drained from his face and he felt his body go slack, staring blankly ahead. He let Eliza pull him down the stairs and into the sitting room. 

And there they were, as he doubted. His heart fell into his stomach; he could only hear the ringing sound in his ears as his vision went blurry. He just stood at the door, frozen, shell shocked, staring blankly at them – a face he had dreaded to see for a long time now and had totally forgotten about in the past few months, a face so familiar, yet not so much, a ghost from the past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [click here pls](http://skorkowsky.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/03/cliffhanger.jpg)


	14. Helpless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alexander feels helpless. They both do.

Alexander only heard a loud cry of excitement from downstairs. He quickly put on a fresh pair of trousers and a shirt, and a waistcoat over it before rushing down the stairs buttoning it, heading towards the sitting room. He was met with a scene that baffled him – a sobbing woman’s arms wrapped around John’s neck while his hands loosely rested on her waist, a very confused and shy little girl half hidden behind the woman, clutching her skirt with both hands while peeking at the couple.

Alexander stopped in his tracks at the door. From where Alexander was standing he couldn’t see John’s face; he was hunched down in his attempt to hug the much shorter woman. But Alexander could tell how his heart was not in the embrace; he felt John would spring away the moment the woman let him go.

Eliza stared at them from afar with her hands clapped over her mouth in wonder and joy while Phillip played peacefully, inattentive to it all, with his toy horse on the sofa.

 

“Ah, Alexander!” sighed Eliza in relief when she finally noticed her husband standing at the door, and walked to him.

Eliza’s call of her husband’s name had broken the couple apart and both John and the woman turned to look at him. The expression on John’s face impossible to read; he just stared at Alexander and blinked, a blank stare, as if he had lost every hope to live, a silent cry for help. It took all Alexander’s will power to stop himself from running across the room and wrapping his friend into a tight embrace, and kissing all the distress away from his face.

 

The woman rubbed the tearstains away from her rosy cheeks and walked towards Alexander with her hand raised, the child, still clutching the woman’s skirt, followed.

“Mr. Hamilton, I presume?” said the woman.

 

Alexander noticed the different accent. “Yes.” said he as he composed his features and took her hand, kissing the knuckle.

 

“I am Martha Manning,”

 

 _Martha… Martha deserves to know. I haven't been the most dutiful of husbands... or fathers –_ Alexander’s stomach dropped as he recalled John’s words, and he looked down at the girl.

 

“John’s wife.” Martha continued. Alexander felt his mouth go dry. “And this is Frances.” she said when she followed Alexander’s gaze. “Say hello to Mr. Hamilton, darling.”

 

“Hello, Mr. Hammingtom.” said Frances in a small voice.

 

Eliza giggled at the mispronunciation, but Alexander was too busy trying to get a proper glance at his best friend’s face to figure out what was going through his mind to notice that. John, whose gaze was now downward at his feet, hadn’t uttered a single word since Alexander came into the room.

 

“It’s alright, pumpkin, Mr. Hamilton doesn’t mind.” said Eliza to Frances when the girl blushed a bright shade of pink.

* * *

 

Knowing Eliza, Alexander was sure she wouldn’t let Martha and Frances leave without at least having dinner with them. So he sat at the dinner table, with Phillip on his lap, as he watched his wife fuss around with the cook and maids. She had asked Alexander to leave the sitting room earlier to give John and his wife some privacy. “They have met after such a long time! Oh, God is gracious. Is it not wonderful, Alexander?” she had said gleefully with a hand over her chest. That was her nature, to be overly joyful for other’s happiness. But what she didn’t notice at the prospect of Martha’s happiness was the melancholia of her own husband.

 

All throughout dinner John didn’t look at Alexander once. He stirred the food on his plate with a fork clumsily and put little in his mouth only when Eliza asked if he didn’t like the food or wanted something else, staring down at the plate all the while; lifting his gaze only when he was addressed, and smiled a very fake smile that didn’t reach his eyes at all – only Alexander could tell.

 

“I’m so sorry again to come here without a notice, Mrs. Hamilton, I assumed the letters had reached you, though the lack of response from John struck me as a little odd.” said Martha.

 

“There is no need to apologize, Mrs. Laurens. You can’t imagine how glad I am to have you as my guest and how happy it makes me to see John reunite with his family.” said Eliza, beaming at Martha. “It is odd that your letter got lost. It is rare to happen in this age. Are you sure you did not receive any letters, John?”

 

John jerked his head up at the mention of his name, as if she had disrupted a deep thought. “No… I mean yes, I’m sure.” A faint smile hovered over his lips for a second or two before he looked down at his plate again.

 

All the while, Alexander kept shooting furtive glances at his friend, deeply studying him – the movement of his every muscle, how his eyes fluttered slower than usual, how he sat on the chair, his shoulders hunched as if he was trying to hide, and how his eyes were just… blank. Alexander wished he could stop the things that made his friend behave this way. But for the first time in a long time, he felt helpless; there was nothing he could do now.

 

* * *

 

Alexander crept out of his room as Eliza took Martha to the nursery, where she had the maid lay a cot for Frances, so Martha could tuck her in. Alexander needed to talk to John, see if he was alright. And he knew he had only a few minutes, precious few minutes, before Martha would return to John’s room. He padded along the corridor and to his room and found the door shut. He knocked twice before turning the doorknob and entering the room and found John getting ready for bed. Alexander turned to close the door behind him when John spoke.

 

“Don’t.” said he, shaking his head from side to side, his voice firm, his stare still blank.

 

Alexander brows knitted but he didn’t argue; he left the door ajar and walked across the room to cradle his friend’s face, their eyes locked.

 

“Are you alright, John?”

 

“Is there any reason not to be?”

 

Alexander sighed, confused. “John…?”

 

Breaking the eye contact, John squirmed out of his hold and turned around to clutch one of the posts of the four poster bed so Alexander couldn’t see his face anymore.

 

“You should leave, Alexander. Martha will be here any minute.”

 

Alexander walked towards him and rested his hand soothingly on John's shoulder from behind.

 

"John... are you comfortable with Martha spending the night here? Because if you are not, I can tell Eliza to arrange-"

 

Alexander stopped short as John spun around, jerking his hand off his shoulder in the process. And Alexander saw fire in his friend's eyes.

 

"What can you possibly mean by that, Hamilton? She is my _wife_. Why would you think I wouldn't be _comfortable_ sharing a bed with _my wife_?!" said John in an angry whispers as he struggled to keep his voice down.

 

Alexander's heartbeat quickened and his mouth fell open as he stepped back. "I... you know what I mean, John–"

 

"No, I don't know what you mean! If you can be with your wife and exploit me the next moment, I don't think I need your consent to sleep with my wife!" John fumed.

 

Tears prickled Alexander's eyes. He had seen his friend infuriated many a time, but his anger was never directed towards Alexander. Now that it was, he could see why people were scared of his temper; John was terrifying, with his tall figure and broad chest, his hands clenched into fists, fire in his eyes and his breath hot like it could burn the person standing before him.

"John... I didn't mean–" Alexander stammered, with his hands drawn out before him as if he was afraid John would hit him any moment now.

 

"Go Alexander."

 

"Plea... John, please, listen–" said Alexander in a small voice.

 

"Leave!" said John through gritted teeth.

 

Alexander looked into his eyes for a moment as a single teardrop rolled down his cheek, and walked to the door when John's voice made him stop in his tracks.

 

"The walls here are so thin, Alexander." said John.

 

Alexander didn't know if it was his own emotions betraying his senses or John's voice really did shake when he said that. Either way, he couldn't bring himself to look John in the eye after what he had just said. He gulped the sob that threatened to come out of his mouth and walked out of the room without turning around.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for late update. Been busy (still busy but ignoring all the work, don't tell anyone!). But I've got two days off, and now I'm awake at 3am, with a runny nose, soreness and chest pain, posting this, but I'm so glad I can write again ^_^


	15. Cut Too Deep, Memories Too Old

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _There was no one, nothing that could convince him of Alexander's love for him right now._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check new tag for trigger warning.  
> (it might be a bit misleading cause I wasn't sure what to tag it. but it's not detailed or anything. please let me know if I should tag something else)
> 
> edit: AVirtoMusae says it should be dub-con. So that's the tag now. Thanks to AVirtoMusae :)

Yes, he had meant to hurt Alexander; partly because he was hurt himself. And for a long amount of time it felt right.

But causing Alexander pain didn’t help the burning ache in his chest, it only made it worse. John admitted that he might have made a mistake.

Perhaps John had hurt him a little too much, and he couldn’t take satisfaction from what he had done. It did not feel right; no matter how many times his brain said Alexander deserved that.

He irrationally hated him sometimes – hated his life, hated that he had the perfect little family, hated that he had a stable job that was only taking him higher, hated that John wasn’t the only one in his life when Alexander was in John’s. And now Martha was back and John found himself blaming Alexander for all the distress in his life…

 

But he loved him unconditionally, and you do not hurt the people you love. He wanted to take his friend into his arms and apologize.

But then he remembered the noises he would hear in the middle of the night, the faint moans you could only hear if you were listening for it, the oh so familiar hum of pleasure in the other room, when Alexander was not with him – he had forgotten the skill of staying silent that they had mastered during the war – and how the next day he would say he loved John.

 

It felt like a lie now that Alexander was not there before him to convince him of it, without those doey eyes, without that mild smile on that flushed face before him.

There was no one, nothing that could convince him of Alexander's love for him right now.

 

He felt used, exploited. He felt jealous.

 

Anyway Alexander had probably already forgotten about him, was relieved that John had finally left him and his family alone.

He had promised to come visit John, but he hadn’t visited once – and that was saying something.

Probably it was best for both of them.

 

This needed to stop. He would not see Alexander again, he promised himself, he would forget about what had happened... what had been happening, he needed to erase his sentiments for his friend, he would decline his offer to work at the firm. It should to be easy to forget Alexander now that he had moved into his new apartment, new life; he wouldn’t have to face him every morning, wouldn’t have to sit through merry dinners with him and his wife, wouldn’t have to witness him kissing his wife goodbye as he left for work, wouldn’t have to try and fail to resist the temptation of his touch at night.

Although deep down he knew it was impossible to forget him; the cut was too deep, the memories too old.

But he could try to.

 

 But what other choices did he have if he declined his job offer? None. He had a family to support now, he had to pay off the debt he owed Alexander and wash his hands of it. He couldn’t always rely on his father’s money that came in the mail only days ago, along with a letter. His father would send more if he had asked, but John would not pique his vanity by doing so, it was shredded too much as it was. After all Henry Laurens had said he was disappointed in him. He was always disappointed in him. He was disappointed when he wouldn’t stop crying after his mother’s death, he was disappointed when he wished to study medicine, he was disappointed when he didn’t show much interest in the opposite sex and failed to find a bride on his own, he was disappointed when he became an abolitionist and proposed to gather the first black battalion, and now he was disappointed that he had survived the war and his father was not the first person he went to.

The first portion of the letter was filled with how glad he was to know that his eldest son was alive, that the missing-in-action report was not true wholly, but this part was not longer than the next. In the second part he demanded to know what exactly had happened in detail, seeing John’s letter was vague. He said he was disappointed that John didn’t feel the need to explain everything thoroughly to his father, said he was disappointed that he had seek shelter at his friend’s house and not his father’s, he was disappointed that he hadn’t found his own way yet and was supported by another man.

He could never know his story in detail, because it was not a valiant one. It would disappoint him further.

 

Henry Laurens had send some money and asked him to put it in good use or use it to go back home. _‘I will see what is to be done with you once you reach here’_ said in the letter, as if he was to be manhandled like a child or a handicapped. It didn’t surprise John a bit that his father had just assumed that John would go back to South Carolina.

John was going to write back to his father thanking him for the money and lying about how it was unnecessary, and stating that he was not going back, that he was going to join Hamilton in his firm and that his daughter-in-law with his granddaughter was here with John now; that should make Henry Laurens delighted enough to forget about all his disappointment – John hoped.

 

 He looked down at Frances who came to sit on his lap asking him to read a book to her. She smiled broad at him, looking up at him through her thick eyelashes that she inherited from her father, and John thought, yes, he could forget Alexander, and dedicate his life to this little angel.

Frances had warmed up to John in the past few days. She was shy at first, having met John for the first time. But after being told that John was her father and sensing how much John adored her, she would not stop following John around and asking him unnecessary questions just so they could talk, and John loved it.

John smiled down at her warmly. "Which one is it today, deary?"

 

Frances dozed off before John got to the end of the story; the side of her face pressed against his chest, her soft, pink lips slightly apart as she slumbered in peace, and a small fist clutching John’s shirt like she wouldn’t let him go. That put a smile on his lips, and he kissed the top of her head. He carefully lifted Frances and carried her to her room. Putting her on the bed gently he knelt down beside it, patting her head and hushing when she squirmed a little. Pecking her temple, he tucked her in and stood up and turned to leave when he had to catch himself from yelping with surprise and took a step back as a reflex.

Martha was standing at the door, leaning on the doorframe with her hands folded on her chest and a smile plastered on her face.

“She loves you already.” said she.

After he overcame the initial shock, John looked down at Frances, fondness in his eyes, and said, “And I her.” He looked back at his wife. “She is a lovely child, Martha. You’ve done a good job rearing her.”

Martha hummed, “It wasn’t just I alone. Mother helped.” She tilted her head to the right before offering John to hold her hand. “Let us retire, husband.”

 

John felt an uneasy pain settle in his stomach; he hadn’t gotten used to it.

He barely knew this person – a stranger… a stranger with whom he would have to spend his life with now – he had only spent a few nights in her bed, had only exchanged a few letters, and was made to take vows to be by her side forever. She was his wife, and they hardly knew each other. When John left her back in London, he had promised to her and her family that he would be back one day, had repeated these words in his letters to Martha, never really meaning them, and he couldn’t say he felt guilty for it. He couldn’t even entertain the possibility of having to live with Martha again. He had cruelly thought he closed that chapter of his life… sort of. So now he found it difficult to adjust.

 

He took her hand anyway, and faked a smile. Martha wouldn’t know if it was genuine or not, Martha was not Alexander – thought John. There he was again, thinking about Alexander, whilst he was being led by his wife to their shared bedroom.

The thought of Alexander didn’t leave his mind that night – the more he tried to erase it and concentrate on the moment, the more prominent it became – not even when his wife straddled him and he entered her. He covered his eyes as tears prickled at the corners; all he could do was imagine it was Alexander, not his wife, who was now panting over him. And it made him feel sick.

He felt Martha tugging at his hands and whispering, “Look at me.”

And John did. John kept his tear-filled eyes locked with his wife until she came.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tbh I can't wait to post chapter 17 eeeeeeeeeee


	16. Like A Jealous Lover

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~ PLEASE READ ~~
> 
> I know the warning says "Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings". But that does NOT mean that rape or underage stuff or major character death or description of violence or any other stuff won't be here. I chose that option to avoid any sort of spoiler. However this is not about this chapter, I just thought I should warn you in advance. Stuff might happen in the future. So if you read, it's on you. If you think you'll get triggered but still want to read, message me on my [twitter](https://twitter.com/meth_shorna) or [tumblr](http://steady-little-soldier.tumblr.com/) and I'll give you the actual warning or tell you what happens. I just don't want any of you to get triggered :) and also want to avoid spoilers.
> 
> Also, slurs in this chapter.

“Alexander, are you awake?” whispered Eliza one night as she curled her arm around her husband’s middle.

 

“Yes, dear, I am awake.” said Alexander, not removing his gaze from the ceiling, but moving his hand so his wife could use it as a pillow.

 

“I was just wondering… I was talking to Martha the other day; she told me how she got the news of John’s death and had lost all hope. And then she received his letter, and her eyes lit up, and oh Alexander, could you imagine what it must have felt like! To have the love of your life back, who you thought you had lost forever!”

_I don’t have to imagine_. Alexander kept staring at the ceiling absentmindedly. “No, I could not.”

 

“Oh Alexander, I’m so happy for them!”

 

“I know you are, love. I am too.” It was not entirely a lie. He should be happy for them, for John at least, he was trying to be… but he could not. John was happy to have his wife and daughter, wasn’t he? Was it not what Alexander had always wanted? For John to be happy? Now that he _was_ happy, why didn’t it soothe the burn that Alexander had hoped it would?

 

Alexander had always been selfish, he was aware of that. Sure, he wanted his friend back in his arms, but that was not possible, this is how they had to live now. At least he would get to see John, would know he was happy.

 

Alexander was not unhappy with Eliza. But he was not the happiest he had ever been. He couldn't even remember the last time he had been happy without the guilt and fear overshadowing it.

 

He was selfish, he knew. He would always think of his own happiness before others. But was it such a crime that he had to be punished in such a way?

 

He could never be like Eliza, who couldn’t sleep with the joy thinking of her husband’s friend’s happiness. He didn’t deserve Eliza. But _God_ he loved her.

 

How could you be in love with two people? That was not possible, was it? It had to be one or the other. Surely Alexander was confused. It was not as if he had any choice anyway. He was married to Eliza, that’s who his heart should belong to. But it ached for John.

 

Couldn’t your soul be ripped into two pieces and bound with two others?

 

 _Christ,_ he wished to see John’s face. But he couldn’t pluck up the courage to visit him because he knew John hated him, he didn’t want to see Alexander, didn’t want anything to do with him. He would probably be angry again if he went to visit.

Alexander also didn’t trust himself not to grab John and stride out of the apartment or do something that was inappropriate for two friends to do in front of his family. Hell, he didn’t know if he could stand seeing him with his family. John was _his_ , wasn’t he? He was not something to be shared, let alone with a woman who hadn’t seen him in years.

 

Alexander’s breath hitched at the thought – that was how John must have felt all this time…

 

* * *

 

 

There was no love between John and Martha like there was between Alexander and Eliza, there was no proper communication or understanding. If Martha had ever felt any affection for John, it had faded away in all the years spent apart. Now there was only the need to stay together for the sake of their daughter and society. Martha needed a shelter that wasn’t her father’s, and John had responsibilities.

 

Martha was not all things nice – John had learned that earlier on. But she was nice to John… mostly. John couldn’t say she was nice all the time because they didn’t talk much. It was John who ignored interaction, and it bugged Martha, she would frown and huff, sensing John’s reluctance, but wouldn’t say anything.

 

But there’s a limit to everything, Martha’s patience too.

 

A conversation was overdue, they both knew it wouldn’t be a happy one, but John ignoring every time Martha approached it only made it worse, leaving no chance of it being civil.

 

John sat at the dining table late at night to write the letter; two pieces of parchment spread in front of him, and he stared at the dull yellow wall opposite him. When he got a cursory structure of the letter, he began to write. ‘ _Dear Father, hope you are well-_ ‘

 

“What are you writing, Jack?”

 

John clutched his chest and jerked his head around to see his wife standing behind him. He sighed. “Oh, it’s you. You scared me.”

 

“Didn’t mean to.”

 

“Haven’t retire for the night?”

 

“I was waiting for you.”

 

“You go on ahead, I’ll be there is a moment.” John turned back to finish the letter.

 

Martha didn’t move from her place. “What are you writing?” she repeated her question.

 

“Letter. To my father.”

 

“Oh. Does he know you are alive yet?” said Martha without hesitation, like the thought of John’s possible death didn’t bother her anymore. Her voice didn’t quiver as Alexander’s did every time he said anything about it. It made John’s eyebrows furrow.

 

“Yes, he does. I wrote him a letter at the same time I wrote you. He replied, so I am writing back.”

 

“Was it him who sent the money?”

 

John clenched his teeth. “Yes.”

 

“I thought it was another loan from Mr. Hamilton.”

 

“Alexa– Hamilton didn’t give me loans; he just… _gave_ me the money. He is a friend and he is not expecting that money back. However, I’m going to repay him. With the nurse gone and the new job, it shouldn’t be too hard.”

 

“So you mean it was charity?” John could sense mockery in her tone.

 

He clutched the quill tighter. “That is not the word I would use.”

 

“How much money do you owe him?”

 

“I don’t know. But I presume, a lot, what with the doctor’s fees and my medicines and treatment, the first three months advance rent for this apartment. I will have to ask him. But I doubt he made a journal of that.”

 

“And him giving you a job is another encumbrance.” When John didn’t reply she added, “You could ask your father.”

 

“I’m not asking my father for more money if that is what you are suggesting. I would send back the money he gave if I could. As it is, I cannot. And I am a grown man, qualified enough to earn and repay the loans myself.”

 

Martha dared to chuckle.

 

“Have you any doubts of my capability?” John turned and glared at her.

 

“I have doubts about your manhood, Jack.” said she, slyly. Fire burned in John’s chest and his vision went hazy with rage. “People don’t just _give_ , Jack, grow up. They always want _more_ in return. The _interest_. And from what I have gathered, Alexander Hamilton is obsessed with finance.”

 

John’s voice rose. “If you question my friend’s character– “

 

“Oh I _do_ question his character. You can see it in his eyes.” Martha cut him off.

 

Martha didn’t know. She couldn’t. John had to turn it back to her, distract her. “What of you then? Have you been so loyal to question a married man’s character?”

 

Martha looked away, not down, and gulped, not scared. “I’ve waited eight years for you, Jack, eight years. There were times I would get frustrated. And you _never_ again promised to come back. Men came, and they went, nobody is constant, just like you, Jack. Nobody wants a married woman with a daughter.” She looked back at John, eyes glassy with tears of anger. “Can you remember how many times I begged you to come to me, to your daughter? She is your _daughter_ , Jack, you cruel man, you had never tried to contact her, you beast, you selfish, _selfish_ man!” spat Martha in hushed furious tone, venom in her voice. “Do you ever think of the struggles I had to go through? Of what I replied when our daughter asked where her father was, _who_ her father was?! And then you go get yourself killed! And when you get back… you go back to _that man_!” she spat. “You have no right, _no right_ to ask of my loyalty! I’ve let too many men take advantage of me, including you. Not anymore.” She was shaking with fury.

 

The words pierced John’s chest like needles. He was guilty, angry at himself. He couldn’t take it anymore. When he stood, the pain in his chest made him crouch a little, but he managed to stride to the doorway when Martha clutched his arm and stopped him. John looked down at her, she was a feet shorter, slim, but her grip was tight, almost bruising. The fire in her eyes burned holes in John’s.

 

“What of you, Jack? You can’t make me confess of my disloyalty and _leave_. How many whores have you fucked in these eight years? How many whores have Alexander Hamilton helped you find, huh Jack?”

 

“Let go of me!” John jerked his hand away and strode to his daughter’s bedroom, ignoring the stabs in his chest and the tears prickling his eyes.

 

He was going to sleep in his daughter’s room tonight; he could ignore it that way. But how could you ignore your life? There was no escape… but one.

 

The thought of oblivion was tempting, of not having to deal with anything anymore, of quitting. He wanted to run away, being the coward that he was.

 

He didn’t sleep that night. He let silent tears roll down his sides and he lay awake staring into the darkness.

 

He turned his head as he felt his daughter turn and mumble sleepily. “Mama…?” said she softly.

 

The bed was short in length for John, and his feet would be dangling off the end if he hadn’t bent his keens. But in width was not too small for their lean figures.

 

John reached out and brushed her soft curls away from her sleepy eyes gently. “No darling, it’s Papa.”

 

“Oh, papa…” She said it with such air as if she had wanted to call someone papa for a long time and now that she had the chance she was savoring it. She paused for a second. “You never sleep here. Were you missing me, papa?”

 

Stream of tears rolled down and John was thankful for the darkness. Frances was too young to understand the meaning of the heaviness in his voice. “Yes, baby girl, papa was missing you.” John let out a sob that he couldn’t hold back anymore.

 

“Papa…” Frances scrambled over to John and tried wiping his tears, but just brushed his cheeks instead in the dark. “I’m here. Don’t cry, papa.” She draped his neck, burying her face into the hollow of his neck. “You won’t have to leave again, will you? We will be together always now. You can sleep in my bed with me every day, papa. I’m here, papa, please don’t cry.”

 

John wrapped his arms around her small figure and sobbed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> John getting scared every time Martha calls him meaning he is actually kinda scared and Martha doesn't want him to be. Also how I portray Martha in this fic is not how I think of her irl!


	17. Earnestly Yours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _They were not done talking. He had yet to apologize to John, for what specifically, he didn’t know. He just knew that John was mad at him and he needed his friend’s forgiveness. He needed to know John loved him still, needed to tell John that he loved him irreversibly. He needed contact._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Earnestly Yours is the music I listened to while writing this chapter and the title fits so  
> ([click here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nvr7T4sfads) if you want to check it out)
> 
> This is the chapter I've been waiting to post since the day I started posting my fic here!

“Good night, Jacky.” said Martha out of the blue.

 

John turned his head from where he was lying as far away from her on the bed as possible, only to see that his wife was also lying stiff on the edge of the bed with her back to him. It was nothing new. They had stopped talking, even making eye contact, after their feud. John had spent a few nights in Frances’ room before his knees started aching.

 

So it was a bit of a shock to see Martha yield first. John didn’t expect her to be forgiving (although it didn’t mean that John was forgiven for everything that he had done – John knew). He really didn’t know her very well! He felt his heart grow lighter, and a pang of admiration that he couldn’t quite understand.

 

“Good night, Martha.” said John before turning back again.

 

Maybe, just _maybe_ , Martha would forgive him one day.

 

* * *

 

 

Eliza came to visit the Laurens’ often, even if her husband didn’t, with fresh fruits and a pie or two that she specially made for Frances. She would ask how they were doing with genuine concern, and inquired if they needed help with anything.

In spite of Martha’s instinctive hatred for Alexander, she behaved amiably with Eliza, and they quickly became friends.

 

John declined Eliza’s every invitation for tea politely saying Martha and France would join her for sure. And they did, almost every week, while John remained in their apartment, busying himself with books.

 

Few days before John was supposed to join Alexander at the firm, Eliza invited them over for dinner with hopeful eyes, saying John and Alexander could talk about his job over dinner. She told them with much enthusiasm how she had already set the menu and how she had been planning for this for weeks.

 

“I haven’t entertained guests for _ages_. Please, John? Martha?” asked Eliza, her eyebrows raised in anticipation. “Martha, tell your husband! I promised you will enjoy yourself, John, Alexander would be there too, so you won’t be bored.”

 

“Eliza, that’s not the matter…” John began.

 

How could he say no to her? If accepting the invitation would make her so happy… John could do little things like that after all she had done for them.

So he agreed.

 

And as promised, Alexander was there. And he smiled so bright when their eyes met, that innocent smile that made his eyes sparkle. He rushed into the sitting room, then stopped short right in front of John and looked deep into his eyes. He hesitated a little, as if he wanted to lock his friend in an embrace but refrained from it, and then drew out his hand. John took his hand and shook it.

 

“Hello, J.” Alexander let the nickname slip. He couldn’t stop smiling, a hesitant smile now, as if he was afraid John wouldn’t smile back.

 

“Alexander.” John nodded. And he smiled.

 

Alexander’s smile broadened and he grinned freely. He greeted Martha and Frances and sat down beside Eliza.

They all chatted for a while, Philip and Frances played silently in spite of the age difference, Philip happily sharing his toys.

 

Eliza rose from her seat when the maid declared that dinner was ready. She scooped up Philip and Martha helped Frances get up from the floor.

 

“Betsey, why don’t you go on ahead and check the table, I need to talk to John about a matter.” said Alexander.

 

Eliza nodded, smiling and walking out with Martha and the children.

 

Alexander walked over to the sofa John was sitting on and sat down beside him taking his hand in his.

 

“John….” said Alexander, with a mild smile on his face, as if he wanted to keep repeating his name. “How are you, John?”

 

“Fine, I’m fine.” lied John, smiling back. “How are you?”

 

Alexander just nodded instead of answering. “I was afraid you wouldn’t talk to me…” He paused, but before John could say anything, he continued, “I’m so happy you’ll be joining our firm.”

 

“Hm. I’m happy for not being useless anymore.” said John.

 

Alexander tutted. “John, you were never useless–“

 

“Oh, Alex,” said John casually, cutting him off. “I need to know how much I owe you. I need to straighten everything.”

 

“You–? You don’t owe me _anything_ , John.” said Alexander, mildly surprised and bothered.

 

“Alex…”

 

Alexander furrowed his brows in annoyance. “John, please, do not insult me by trying to pay me for what I did for my _friend_.”

 

John sighed. “I am not paying you; I simply want to _repay_ you. If it upsets you, we will talk about it later.”

 

“No. This conversation ends _here_.”

 

“Alexander… I know you don’t have an abundance of wealth; you can’t just pour money on me as charity. There is no shame in expecting it back.” He gulped when he realized he’d just used Martha’s wording.

 

“It wasn’t charity!” Alex said through gritted teeth. “I helped you because I care for you.” he said in hushed, angry tone.

 

John rubbed the back of Alexander’s hand with his thumb. “Alexander, calm yourself. I won’t pay you back. Are you satisfied?”

 

Alexander sighed and looked down. “Good, we settled on that. And I–“

 

“Gentlemen, dinner is getting cold.” said Eliza poking her head around the door. Her gaze drifted to their joined hands – Alexander shocked, and making no attempt to let go – and she smiled, admiring her husband’s brotherly love for his friend.

 

 

Alexander felt restless throughout dinner; he looked over at John and could tell that the feeling was mutual. They were not done talking. He had yet to apologize to John, for what specifically, he didn’t know. He just knew that John was mad at him and he needed his friend’s forgiveness. He needed to know John loved him still, needed to tell John that he loved him irreversibly. He needed contact. He needed to know John was happy. And if he wasn’t, he would make him happy someway, _any way_.

 

Alexander excused himself and John right after dessert. “Shall John and I go upstairs to talk about the new job and not bore you lovely ladies?”

 

Eliza chuckled. “Of course, Alexander.”

 

Alexander and John didn’t waste time in rushing up the stairs and entering Alexander’s study. In his haste for contact Alexander pushed the door but did not notice when it failed to shut properly and was left ajar, and immediately claimed John’s lips in a bruising kiss.

 

“I missed you…” Alexander whispered between kisses. “Oh, I missed you so much, J.”

 

“Alex– _God_ …” gasped John as he felt Alexander’s hands all over his body and it was _electric_. He had been longing for his touch; he couldn’t lie to himself. “I too have missed you, Alexander…” he said when Alexander untied his cravat and started sucking on the tender skin just under his ear. John squeezed his eyes shut and groaned before Alexander found his way back to John’s lips and grazed his teeth against his lower lip.

 

They stopped for a moment, their breathing labored, as Alexander cradled John’s face and rubbed his thumbs lovingly over his cheekbones. John closed his eyes and pressed his forehead against Alexander’s, his hands resting on Alexander’s slim waist; both of them panting and warming each other’s face. “ _Te amo_ , John Laurens, _simper. Numquam te amare desistam_.” Alexander whispered.

 

A warm feeling spread through John’s chest, overwhelming in the best way. This man loved him, there was no doubt, there was no way he was mistaken. And John loved him back with all his heart. “Kiss me.”

 

And Alexander did. He kissed his lover ardently as he walked him backwards until the back of John’s thighs hit the desk, and they stopped and looked into each other’s eyes, panting, lips swollen and red, with hunger and longing in their eyes. “Please, Alex, _please_ … I _need_ you.” John begged in shaky whisper. His mind cloudy; the only thing he could think about was how much he loved this man, and the only thing he could feel was his touch.

 

Alexander’s voice was husky when he spoke next. “Turn around.”

 

And John did. He turned around and undid his breeches. It pooled around his knees. Undoing his own breeches, Alexander spat on his hand; it was not going to be enough, it would hurt, but right now, neither of them could care less.

 

By the time the third finger was circling his rim, John grew impatient. “Now!” John whined.

 

Alexander obliged and pushed in slowly at first. A loud gasp made its way out of John’s chest, making Alexander shushing him and turning his head awkwardly to kiss him sloppily. John’s knuckles turned white where he clutched the edges of the desk, his face contorted and tears pooling in his eyes. It was painful in the most wonderful way.

 

When Alexander began to move, John moaned. An obscene sound. Music to Alexander’s ear.

 

John bent over the desk, his cheek coming in contact with the cold wood as his chest heaved and he moaned again. Alexander grabbed his hips and slammed in, hitting just the right spot, making John feel the perfect concoction of pain and pleasure. John felt almost dizzy. Alexander’s vision went blurry as he threw his head back and moaned; the sight of John squirming and groaning beneath him was too much.

John continued making that _ah-ah_ sound with every thrust.

 

They had only a nanosecond after they vaguely heard Martha calling John, and then they heard the yelp. Both John and Alexander simultaneously turned their heads back to look at the door and saw Martha rushing out. And in a split second John pushed Alexander away, winching a little, and pulled his breeches up before rushing out of the door himself, calling Martha helplessly, “Martha, please come back… listen to me, Martha! Martha, listen!”

 

Alexander felt all the blood leave his body as he gaped at the empty doorway, his eyes wide with a mingle of emotions – fear, hurt, anger, shock, panic, shame, loathing, guilt – ready to spill, mouth agape.

 

He heard John yelling for Martha to stop, then he heard the front door opening and John’s voice fading. And he stood there, petrified, unable to move, to think, his shoulders slumped.

 

He pulled his breeches up before Eliza came into the room in a hurried pace, looking confused. “Alexander, what happened?” she asked, cradling his face. “Why did Martha ran out crying? Did you say something to her? Did John? What happened, my dear?” When Alexander didn’t reply, only kept blankly staring ahead, she shook him. “Answer me, Alexander!” she said, raising her voice.

 

Alexander now looked at his wife, his eyes leaking. “Betsey…” he whispered pathetically. The next second his brows wrinkled and his lips thinned. “Leave me alone.” When Eliza didn’t move, instead furrowed her brows in worry, Alexander gripped her upper arm tightly and dragged her to the door and pushed her out screaming, “Leave me alone!”

Eliza fell to the floor as Alexander slammed the door shut behind her before he could see her hurt face.

She didn’t knock, she didn’t beg Alexander to open the door.

 

Alexander’s knees gave way and he fell to the ground; a terrible pain in his chest and stomach. He curled in on himself and sobbed uncontrollably, hiccupping every now and then and pounding his head with his fists as hard as possible, for how long he didn’t know.

It was the dead of night when he woke up, it was cold, and he could tell, it was in the air, his world would never be the same again.  
“What have I done…?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh oh...
> 
>  
> 
>  _Te amo, John Laurens, simper. Numquam te amare desistam._ \- I love you, John Laurens, always. I'll never stop loving you.


	18. Debris

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check all the tags before reading PLEASE!
> 
> also, The Great Comet of 1812(the last track of the musical) is the song to listen to

Eliza had stopped talking to him. When Alexander came to his senses, he had apologized, said Eliza didn’t deserve this sort of behavior. Eliza didn’t reply.

He went to work early, came back home late, and worked till midnight, till he was so tired that he would practically pass out on his desk. The few nights that he did spend in his bedroom were worse. Eliza faced away from him and stayed in that manner the whole night. Alexander slept even less during those nights. And he thought what his John might be going through, how he was doing.

He wanted to see him, talk to him. But he could not go to his house, not after what happened. Perhaps he wouldn’t even be allowed in, neither by Martha nor by John himself. Surely he was not wanted there. But he would swallow his pride, go through the embarrassment if that meant he would be able to see John again, see if he was alright.

  

Alexander saw Eliza approaching him when he went home one night. He stood still at the doorway and watched his wife walking to him. Her dark eyes were glistening with tears in the vague light of the moon that seeped through the crack of the door; her usually neatly tied hair was a mess, her shoulders slumped as if she has lost all energies to continue. She walked in a slow pace towards him, a piece of paper clutched in her hand, crumpled. “Is it true, Alexander?” her voice firm in spite of her state.

Alexander gaped at her, knowing exactly what she meant; he would be lying if he said he didn’t saw this coming. The wind coming through the open door and the sight in front of him chilled him to the bone. “Eliza…” his voice broke, just above a whisper.

“ _Is it true?_ ” Eliza repeated, waving the paper high in her hand now. Alexander could see it was a letter, and he didn’t need to read it to know who it was from or what it was about.

How could he answer that? Alexander hung his head and felt tears rolling down his cheeks. The sound of the wind filled the silence, and it made him want to scream and pull out the hair from his head.

He heard a sigh leave his wife’s mouth in despair and looked up to see Eliza turning around and ascending the stairs, her shawl sweeping the floor, and the letter carelessly falling to the ground from her hand.

 

He had lost John Laurens, now he had lost his wife too.

 

He walked to pick the letter up and pocketed it; no one could see that.

 

Eliza left with Philip the following week. Alexander heard from the servants that they had left for Albany, to stay with her father, without giving any dates on which they would be back.

 

* * *

 

 

He hesitated, his throat dry, before he knocked on the door. A minute passed. Silence. He held the doorknocker and pounded twice again. Moments later Alexander could hear slow footsteps on the other side of the door, Alexander held his breath, and then the door opened.

 

His face was the palest Alexander had ever seen, his eyes sunken, his hair tied into a messy pony tail and his eyes red and vacant. His feet bare, dirty and bruised. His lower legs on display down from where his knee breeches ended, scratches all over them. He was wearing a loose white shirt that had gone yellowish and had multiple red spots on it, without a waistcoat.

 

His John, his beautiful, wonderful John, was now a wreck.

 

They kept looking at each other for a long time, tears prickling at the corner of Alexander’s eyes, but John did not pay attention to them.

“John…” Alexander breathed.

John didn’t answer; he simply stepped aside and motioned for him to come in. He walked Alexander to the sitting room. The house screamed with emptiness.

John motioned for him to sit down. They sat on different sofas and the deafening silence continued as Alexander noticed the long streaks of blood that had seeped through John’s shirt on the underside of his upper arm.

 

“Where are they?” asked Alexander, making John look at him.

They held eye-contact for a while before John spoke, as if he had failed to register the question. “You wanted to talk?”

“I wanted to know… how are you, John?” said Alexander softly.

“I’m fine.” said John.

Silence fell again, and it continued longer than the first time.

“Have you had dinner?” asked Alexander, just to break the silence, because the answer was obvious.

John chuckled bitterly.

“What is it?”

John stared at Alexander for a long while before saying, “’Tis… I can’t remember the last time I had... something to eat.”

“John…”

Alexander moved to sit beside John and cupped his face, making John flinch away and hiss, “Don’t touch me…”

Alexander frowned, confused, but took his hands away. “John… I’m sorry… I won’t. John please… where are your wife and daughter?”

“She took her…” John’s voice shook. “She took my daughter and went to my father.” He let the tears roll down his cheeks. “I couldn’t stop her… I tried, Alexander, believe me, I tried, I begged… but I couldn’t…” he looked at Alexander earnestly, as if desperate for some sort of approval, as if Alexander believing him would make him feel less guilty, less embarrassed, less low; and the floodgate opened. “Now she will tell my father all about–“ John slid off the sofa and fell on his knees on the floor, burying his face in his hand, shaking and sobbing uncontrollably. Alexander went to kneel down in front of him and touched his shoulder lightly, trying to soothe him. “Don’t touch me!” snapped John, pushing Alexander’s hand away. “Father will hate me… he will never see me again. My daughter will grow up knowing his father to be a detestable faggot!” he spit the words out.

Alexander was desperate to help his friend somehow. “John your father loves you!”

“No, he doesn’t. And he will hate me more when he hears of it, he will be disgusted. I cannot bear the shame, Alexander, I cannot–“ He slid down further and buried his face in Alexander’s chelidon, clutching his arms so tightly that it hurt, and he whispered between sobs, “Help me… Alex please… take this away from me…”

 

If Alexander knew how, or what, to take away from him, he would; but he didn’t know what he could do, how he could help. He didn’t know how to make it better, he had lost all ways. And he let John slide down from his lap and curl on the ground, facing away from him, shivering and hiccupping. Alexander didn’t notice the wetness rolling down his own cheeks. And he stroked John’s hair softly as John lay clutching his knees to his chest. They spent an hour like that, and Alexander observed how his sobbing slowed gradually, his breathing evened out, and after a while there were only silent tears and one or two more hiccups. Alexander was ready to retreat his hand if John asked him to, but John didn’t complain, he welcomed the soft caresses. So Alexander lay down with him and moved a soothing hand up and down his arm from behind and occasionally scratched his head tenderly. John didn’t flinch away this time.

 

“Your wife…” John said after a while. Alexander could tell from his voice that he hadn’t stopped crying.

“She knows.” said Alexander.

“I know.”

“How…?”

“She was here.”

It was unexpected, but Alexander wasn’t shocked. “What did she say to you?”

“She accused me of thievery... said I had stolen you from her. Then she took a moment before adding that she was wrong, you were never hers. She wanted to know the whole of it… _‘your perspective’_ she said, _‘see if there is a way to see past it.’_ I didn’t say anything… I couldn’t. I stood there shaking, fighting back tears. I kept quiet because I could see the despair in her eyes… the hatred flashed for only a moment. And surely she could see the shame in mine. Then she said it wasn’t my fault… I’ve never been more humiliated in my life.” Alexander’s hand stopped on where it was stroking John’s arm, and fresh tears rolled down. “She was not mad, Alexander. She was… hurt… _destroyed_.” Alexander wondered what differences there were between the states that his wife and his lover were in now. “She wasn’t crying… She asked me if I truly loved you… if I loved you more than she did.”

“What did you say?”

Alexander heard a small huff of a laugh. A pained one.

“Alexander…” John gently pushed Alexander’s hand off his arm. “Please leave.”

“John…?” Alexander pushed up on his elbow.

“Please, Alexander… I need to be alone.” He didn’t sound mad or annoyed, he sounded emotionless. “Alexander…” He hid his face with his arms, knees still pressed to his chest, curled into a tight ball.

Alexander sighed and sat up. Alexander got up, put his coat on and went out of the front door praying John wouldn’t lock it just yet. He hurried through the market and bought bread, ham, some vegetables and fruits. Rushing back to John’s apartment, he found the door unlocked. If John was awake, he didn’t complain when Alexander went in, or he simply didn’t care anymore. Alexander stored the food in the kitchen and made a sandwich, squeezed some orange juice into a glass. He placed the plate and glass on the floor beside John.

He could tell from his breathing that John was not asleep, but he didn’t move, kept his face hidden. “You’ll need to eat. I’ll leave after, I promise.” When John didn’t respond in any way, Alexander said, “Could you at least tell me where the first aid kit is, dear, so I can take of your… cuts? John?” John didn’t move an inch.

Alexander searched the master bedroom first and after a bit of rummaging found a box that contained of several bottles of iodine tincture, bandages, scissors, cotton and some other tablets and medicines that Alexander didn’t know of. He came back into the living room and took out a bottle of iodine tincture and cotton. He dabbed all the scratches on John’s legs with it and, after much maneuvering, the wounds under his shirt. And all the while John didn’t even hiss or move for a second on his own.

Alexander went to put the box back where it was and came back with a fresh pair of trousers, shirt and a blanket for John. He put lids on both the plate and glass and covered John with the blanket. “Eat whenever… before it goes bad. And change your clothes if you want.”

He drew his hand out to pat his hair but stopped midway. He daren’t touch him again. For a long while he looked down at the curled figure of who once was a valiant soldier, brave and daring, John Laurens, his John. How much of John Laurens was left in him now?

 

When Alexander was about to stand up, like in a flash, John looked up and clutched his arm, stopping him and making him look down at him again. Looking deep in his eyes he whispered only one word, “Alexander…” Then his gaze roamed all over Alexander’s face, as if memorizing every bit of him, taking in. His eyebrows rose, as if in wonder, before he turned over.

Alexander sighed and walked to the front door, promising John he would be back tomorrow, and was met with silence in reply.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anybody feels uncomfortable about how John is all like "MY DAUGHTER!" when he was never there for his family, well... it's just that John finally knows how it feels to love your child. And it's not like he claims to love her more than Martha does or anything, or that he thinks Martha shouldn't have taken Frances with her. He just misses her and the thought scares him that Martha might tell Frances what she saw.  
> There is another reason that I don't think is a good idea to discuss here. And I don't usually describe things like that here, but I thought people might misunderstand so yeah.


	19. Sleep Now

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~ PLEASE READ ~~
> 
> I know the warning says "Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings". But that does NOT mean that rape or underage stuff or major character death or description of violence or any other stuff won't be here. I chose that option to avoid any sort of spoiler. Stuff might or might not happen. So if you continue reading, it's on you. If you think you'll get triggered but still want to read, message me on my [twitter](https://twitter.com/meth_shorna) or [tumblr](http://steady-little-soldier.tumblr.com/) and I'll give you the actual warning or tell you what happens, so you can decide if you want to read or not. I just don't want any of you to get triggered :) and also want to avoid spoilers.

The emptiness. It was in the air. Worse than yesterday. As if no living entity inhabited the place. It baffled him for a second. Then it made him scared.

Alexander was afraid to take another step in John’s apartment, but he forced himself to. The living room was empty. The plate and the glass were exactly where they were the night before, untouched. As did the clothes that he had left there for John. But the blanket was gone.

He was here to see John, like he had promised. He wanted to take John back to his house and not leave him here to be all by himself. But the guilt and shame stopped him from doing that. He knew John would be reluctant anyway.

 

_Should have spent the night here. Look after him._

 

The apartment was not very spacious; there were only two rooms that John could be in. Alexander checked Frances’ room first, just to delay facing what he was afraid he might discover. He knew what he would see if he walked through John and Martha’s bedroom door. His hands trembled uncontrollably as he turned the doorknob.

“John…” Alexander called feebly, tears welling up in his eyes in spite of himself.

 

John was lying on his side on the bed, his back turned to the door, still in the same shirt and breeches, only he was not shivering anymore. Alexander was afraid to get closer, so he stood at the door and called John again, hoping against hope that he would reply. Alexander spent seconds, minutes, awaiting his lover’s response… when it didn’t come, an involuntary sob tore through Alexander’s chest. He was frozen to the floor.

 

Three bottles of tincture iodine lay on the floor beside the bed, empty. The first aid kit on the side, the lid open.

 

Alexander’s knees buckled and he fell to the floor. The pain in his chest, so intense, that it made him numb. He couldn’t feel anything; his head clear of any thought, but buzzing.

After a while he dragged himself a few feet and sat on the edge of the bed. He nudged John’s shoulder. He didn’t budge; he was stiff, cold… lifeless.

 

Alexander stood and walked to the other end of the bed and lay down across from John.

John was pale, but for once looked peaceful. He would look peaceful when he took Alexander to the stream far away from their camp and they would lie on the soft grass, basking after taking a dip in the cool water. He would close his eyes and sigh, forget about the war for just a moment. His skin would glow in the sun. He looked like an element of nature, not of civilized human race, like a part of the beautiful stream that flowed nearby, like the birds flying above them, like the blue sky, like the wind that blew so sweetly. And Alexander would think how he did not belong to the war, how he belonged _right here,_ something to be worshiped, to be admired with all of one's attention, something to be touched with the gentlest of hands, something not to be mingled with blood and gore. John would look at Alexander and smile, finding him staring at him.

He didn’t smile now, his skin didn’t glow, it was pale.

He lay with one of his hands curled under his head and the other clutching a crumpled paper to his chest.

Alexander couldn’t breathe. He lifted his hands to delicately brush the unruly locks of curl away from John’s face, he cups his jaw. Cold, his skin is so cold.

He manages to take the paper out of his firm grip without tearing it, and pocketed it. The front of the paper didn’t say anything, didn’t have a name on it, but Alexander knew it was for him. John knew who would find him first… Alexander had promised he would be back.

Alexander placed tender kisses on his eyelids, his nose, his cheeks, his forehead, his ears, his chin, his lips, his jaw, each of his fingers and kept calling his name, gradually started begging him to open his eyes, made empty promises of eloping with him to France if he opened his eyes. But he didn’t open his eyes.

Alexander stared at him for a long while, motionless; he could swear he saw a soft smile on his pale lips.

Alexander screamed, called him names, shook him. “How dare you?! John… JOHN! How dare – how – you – N– _AH!_ ” he stuttered and hiccupped; a weeping mess.

He didn’t realize when he fainted.

 

* * *

 

 

_My dearest Alexander,_

_I never spoke of it, but perhaps you know, because you know all that goes through my mind, that my only reason to live after the revolution was you, Alexander. I grew up dreaming of a free nation and war. Now it is free, though not wholly, and the war is over. What do you do when your dreams come true? You build another dream, and you live for it. I lived for you. All my ambitions and dreams had foolishly and unalterably tangled themselves with you without my knowing. Our dreams were the same, yet you also managed to haunt mine. I fell, and I dreamed a false dream. But that is lost now. I cannot be with you now, or ever. It was a false hope that I had clung to that you and I could be together. We were not, and we can never be. A false hope that you never cared to correct. Perhaps you were lost in it, too._

_But this rock, Alex… I cannot bear it any longer. I cannot live with this heavy weight on my chest. I have lost all reasons to continue. I am humiliated, ashamed, and full of guilt; there is not a jot of pride left in me, and can you recognize your friend if not proud and valorous? I am filthy. And I have involved my dear friend in it. Death seems sweeter compared to this world that only has hurt and discomfort and shame and hatred in store for me. Even leaving, I prove myself to be a poltroon. The reckless soldier that you saw in the battlefield was perhaps merely a facade._

_You must forgive me for choosing freedom, for choosing the easier path. I am hoping you would appreciate it rather. Now you will be happy with your wife and child. You will not have to worry about you paramour. But you must not blame yourself for my cowardice, my dear lad, my soul shall not rest if you do. Why cry for a soul set free? As you must take out the infection in order to survive, I am erasing myself from your life for your happiness which is all I pray for._

_I could never be forgiven. Not by god, not by Martha, not by your wife, not even by you. So this is my absolution; ‘tis a selfish one I suppose._

_Give my love to my dear daughter, tell her papa is alright now; ask your wife, and mine, if they could ever forgive me, though I do not expect they should. And to you, my dear Alexander, I greedily ask for nothing but to remember only the best part of our time together; forget me altogether if that is what you must do in order to give your all to your family and this nation that we fought for._

_I entreat you to not pity me, dear boy, that is the last sentiment I expect from you. Know, while you might be someone else’s, I am yours wholly, and yours only. Know for sure that my final thoughts are of you. Know when I go, I am at peace, because I am leaving this realm of despair and going to a better place, and there I await you,_ ma vie _. Do not make haste though, my love, for we have eternity. Perhaps there we can rightfully be together, for our souls have no name, no gender. Know that my soul aches for yours. Know that I love you._

_Yrs. for ever,_

_J._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was hard to write and edit. Hence the delay. I mean not hard to find the words, but hard... emotionally I guess?  
> I kept it short on purpose. No, I wasn't crying while writing this, someone was peeling onions.
> 
> DON'T ASK ME ABOUT OR LECTURE ME ON TINCTURE IODINE! *feeling like jon snow author runs away sobbing*


	20. Weep Not

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>  A shiver runs down my spine  
> As I bear the coffin  
> 'Tis so heavy on my shoulder  
> My lover it is carrying
> 
>  
> 
> It rains that day the nature cries  
> For she has lost another pure child.  
> The sky is gloomy as it pours  
> And the birds have stopped all the songs.
> 
>  
> 
> For you and her are one  
> Shouldn't take away her brother,  
> You are to be spread in the winds  
> You will not be smothered.
> 
>  
> 
> The pitter-patter on the lid  
> Do you still hear?  
> The shriek of your wife and your daughter’s cry  
> Does it reach your ear?
> 
>  
> 
> The stillness of my being  
> The words that don’t leave my mouth  
> Do you hear it?  
> Do you hear it now?
> 
>  
> 
> The wind blows - doesn’t shake me  
> It doesn’t make me shiver,  
> The numbness – it spreads  
> Right from the center.
> 
>  
> 
> My lover, sleep now,  
> Rest now, down under  
> At night, sprung free  
> Say goodbye to me sweetheart.
> 
>  
> 
> You have ripped a part of me  
> Taken it to your grave  
> It hurts but don’t fret  
> The pain is something you gave.
> 
>  
> 
> A reminder of you  
> It burns, it hurts so badly  
> It will never heal, it will never be cured  
> The wound you left opened on me.
> 
>  
> 
> But I forgive you, I love you  
> Have I told you I was yours?  
> Did not let me bid goodbye  
> How cruel of you, how callous!
> 
>  
> 
> A stone on my chest you drop  
> As they put you six feet under  
> I can’t breathe, I can’t see  
> Did you feel the same, I wonder.
> 
>  
> 
> A punch in the gut, torn is my heart  
> Bloodied, the hands of an angel  
> You take it down, a part of me  
> With you, oh, it’s so painful.
> 
>  
> 
> Tender whisper of the winds says  
> You’re glad you are gone  
> But you leave me wounded, you leave me crippled  
> I cannot carry on.
> 
>  
> 
> Wait for me, my love  
> Wait in the better place  
> When my duties are done, time will come  
> We’ll rejoice in the same grace.  
> 

They washed the body, bathed him. The scratches, the scars, they were still there – a portrayal of his soul. Alexander remembered placing soft kisses each and every one of the scars, the puckered skin on his side, in an attempt to erase the memories attached to them, making John shiver in the process. They stood out more against his now pale, lifeless skin. He would not shiver if Alexander were to kiss them all again. Alexander didn’t cry.

 

He did not shed a single drop of tear throughout the funeral.

John was paler now, his hair and eyelashes dangerously dark against his skin. Alexander didn’t know for how long he had been staring at his friend’s lifeless form or what was going through his mind but he jerked when the lid of the casket was shut. They shut the lid, and with it Alexander stopped breathing. They sealed his John for forever; he would never see that face again. But he didn’t cry.

He was asked to be a pallbearer – “you were like a brother to him” said someone Alexander was able to recognize – he didn’t cry. He watched as they put his John six feet underground, he didn’t cry. He watched as raindrops spattered on the black lid of the coffin that held the love of his life inside. Alexander didn’t cry.

 

Henry Laurens didn’t ask for his eldest son to be buried in their family property. He glared at Alexander with bloodshot eyes. Martha didn’t have time to look at him as she shrieked in grief, with little Frances weeping behind her.

Eliza came to the funeral, she was there, but Eliza didn’t dare to go console Martha; she was afraid she might hate her as well. She came to sit down beside Alexander on the wet bench, getting him under the umbrella. Silence remained between them as Alexander’s gaze glued to the lump on the ground. The headstone hadn’t been placed yet; Alexander didn’t know when it would be or what it would say.

 

“You mustn’t hate him. You can’t hate my John.” said he, almost robotically, out of the blue.

 Eliza noticed he was shivering slightly. She sighed as tears welled up in her eyes. “I don’t hate him, Alexander.”

 Silence again.

 They should head back home. It would be dark soon. But neither of them found the motivation to leave the place.

 Alexander didn’t want to leave his John.

 “You were never wholly mine, were you.” said Eliza softly. It was a statement, not a question. She knew Alexander wasn’t in the state of answering him; she didn’t expect him to.

 A gust of cold wind blew and Alexander shivered like a sick dog beside her.

 

* * *

 

 

Alexander had stopped eating. Not out of spite of any sort or for grief, Eliza knew, Alexander had simply forgotten. He wanted to divorce himself from every sentiment, just like last time. Only this time he had deleted the basic need to eat or sleep from his mindset altogether.

He had shut himself in his study. Eliza would be afraid that he might do something foolish if she didn’t know better. Alexander wouldn’t, Eliza knew. But what he was doing in that room, Eliza couldn’t tell. Working? - she thought – but he would run out of materials.

They had all tried to get him out of the room. She even made Phillip ask his father in his small broken words to come out and read to him and tuck him in; Alexander loved reading to Phillip, changing his voice with characters, demonstrating the exciting parts. But not a single sound came from the room.

Although Eliza couldn’t bring herself to be her loving self again with him - the wound was still fresh - but she had tried, calling him by his name, telling him he needed to eat and rest. Alexander didn’t respond.

She had pressed her ear on the door in hopes of hearing any sound of movement. She could only make out the scratching of quill on paper.

 

On the second day at night, he opened the door abruptly. Eliza hurried to the door hearing the sound of the doorknob and found Alexander standing straight, his eyes unfocused, looking into the middle distance, bewildered. There were bags under his eyes and dark circles shadowed his once-bright eyes. His hair was messy as they draped his face, his cravat loose around his neck; his white shirt dirty, ink smeared at places. The buttons of his waistcoat open, his breathing heavy.

Eliza slowly walked towards him. “Alexander…”

Alexander jerked in astonishment, sensitive to sound, and then flinched. He took a few deep breaths. “Parched.” His voice was groggy from lack of use. He clutched the doorframe and waited as Eliza called the maid and asked to bring water upstairs immediately. Alexander downed three glasses of water holding his breath; his hands shaking terribly as he clutched the glass. He panted once he was done.

“Are you not hungry?” asked Eliza.

Alexander turned and went into the room without a word, as if he couldn’t hear her. Eliza was quite sure he hadn’t registered it. But he didn’t close the door this time. Eliza dared to peek inside.

 

Papers. Scattered everywhere, all over the floor. All of which were drenched with heavy writing, written on both sides. Not a single spot of the floor visible. Eliza wondered how many papers and inkpots he had and wondered if he had run out yet. She watched silently as Alexander marred some of the paper on his way to his desk and sat down putting on his glasses as he started scribbling again. Eliza stood at the door observing her husband for a second. She didn’t know what to say, couldn’t comprehend what she saw before her. She bent down to pick up a paper and tried to read the scrawls.

“Leave it where it was. Don’t read.” came Alexander’s stern voice, before she could make out even a word. The writing was Alexander’s beautiful cursive, but more scratchy, yet elegant. “He wouldn’t appreciate you reading a letter which was written for him.”

“Alexander…” Eliza gaped at her husband.

“Leave it, Eliza.” Alexander maintained his tone.

Swaying, the thin paper fell to the ground as Eliza let her grip loose. Her eyes skimmed over papers layering the floor. “All this… this is for… him... for John?”

“Yes, I must write to him. Or he might think I’ve forgotten him. I have to remind him how I love him, that he is on my mind constantly. So I must write and write and write and write and write...” Alexander said with his hand drawn out and his neck cocked as if he was in court and trying his best to convince the jury but almost losing it. “Every paper is in the exact place where it should be, and they mustn’t move an inch.” And as if to give Eliza a display of how insane her husband sounded, a gust of wind blew in through the open window and sent a few of the papers flying to the other side of the room; though Alexander didn’t pay any mind.

“Alexander…” she repeated.

“Now, I must finish this. Leave the room, and shut the door after you, will you please Betsey?” Alexander kept murmuring under his breath “He’ll be back, you’ll see, he’ll be back.”

“Alexander, come to bed.”

“I have to work.”

“You’ve been working for two day nonstop, you need to rest.”

“Can’t rest. I’ll rest when he’s back. He’ll make me rest. You know John…” Alexander chuckled fondly.

Eliza hesitated before she said, “He’s not coming back, Alexander.”

Alexander stopped short and looked straight into her eyes. “He’ll be back. He has played this game before, naughty John. And he was back. He’ll come back again, come back to me.”

“We buried his body, you carried his coffin yourself, Alexander. He’s dead.”

“How dare you?!” Alexander frowned at her as he stood up and shouted, slamming his fist on the desk, “Do you wish my Laurens dead?!” He paused for a second and Eliza saw him vibrating with anger. “Begone! This moment! LEAVE!”

 

* * *

 

Angelica arrived on the fourth day. She hugged her sister tightly, admitting that she had left for America immediately after she received Eliza’s letter and learned about what Alexander had done.

Angelica was the only person who Eliza wrote to after she found out about Alexander and John. She didn’t tell anyone else, not even her father. How could she?

After consoling her sister, Angelica stumped up the stairs, clutching her skirt, before Eliza could stop her. “Where is that monster? Where is Alexander? I will see him–”

“Is that Angelica I hear?” Alexander opened the door as Angelica reached the top of the stairs and walked towards her grinning ear to ear. He took her hands and kissed the knuckles. “My _dear sister_ , how do you do?” Angelica stared at him with her mouth agape. Before she could answer, he added, “Do you have any paper and ink? I have run out I am afraid, and I must finishing writing my letters. He will be expecting them. He doesn’t say it but I know he awaits my letters. He adores my writing…” Babbling, he went back to his study, leaving a baffled Angelica behind.

 

“I am sorry for Laurens’ death but you can’t forgive him just because he has lost his mind.” said Angelica after Eliza sat down with her and told her everything.

“No, I cannot. But I have to keep him alive. Because that man… I want to hate him, I know I should…” She looked down, her tone sad. “But I cannot possibly forgive him for… for what he did.” She paused before adding, “I keep thinking I should call a doctor. But I am afraid he would either babble about John and the doctor will know or the doctor might declare him mad and not traumatized and send him to asylum. I cannot allow that to happen.”

“How about we write to Dr. Fitzwilliam? He is our family doctor and I am sure he will not pressurize you to send Alexander anywhere. Although we will have to be careful about his babbling.”

“Hm…” Eliza thought for a second. “I will write to him in the morrow.”

 

The next morning Alexander was found passed out, on the floor, quill still in hand, by a maid, who was there to offer him food that she knew would be refused. He was transferred to the guest room when the doctor came. He opened his eyes hours later. He frowned at first. Then he kept silent. He did not answer any of the doctor’s questions. He kept staring at the wall as if he was not present in his own body.

George Washington wrote to Alexander. Angelica read the letter to him; he offered his condolences to Alexander for losing a friend and prayed for his soul. Alexander did not react to it.

He took the food and ate it. He moved his limbs when he was asked to change his clothes. He did not protest when they cleaned him. But he wouldn’t look anyone in the eye or talk. He just said his wrists ached to no one in particular.

To everyone’s surprise, the Marquis came. He was the only person Alexander responded to in days. He didn’t ask for paper and ink anymore.

Angelica and Eliza gawked at him as he left the room.

“I have ignored mentioning our dear Laurens at any point.” said he with his heavy accent. “But this should not go for very long. I can see how wounded he is. I know how dear his held Laurens.” Lafayette looked away for a bit, as if he knew about the relationship between Alexander and John, being the brilliant man that he was. “I was surprised he didn’t react the same way the first time. But I can see why he did this time… I think he thinks himself guilty for what Laurens has done, blames himself for not being able to stop him. And he thought he had gotten his friend back for the rest of his life, and to lose him so abruptly must have been… and to find his body…” he said, unable to put it into words. Eliza nodded as she handed him the cup of tea. “You mustn’t let this continue, Mrs. Hamilton, you mustn’t let him live in the illusion that Laurens is alive somewhere and he is writing to him. You must lead him out of this delusion.”

Lafayette left saying, “If there is anything I can do for my friend, or help you in any way, do not hesitate to write to me, my dear lady.”

 

A letter from court arrived that day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Historical inaccuracy!  
> Ok this was really really really hard to write. I cried buckets and buckets, which is embarrassing. And I kept procrastinating cause I didn't want to edit it, cause I didn't want to read it again. But I did, and it took me a while. Still I am not sure about this chapter. You might find a lot of mistakes there, and I might edit it more later.  
> I might be wrong about some stuff and I'm sorry I couldn't do much research. Correct me.
> 
> The next chapter might take a while(and I am sorry to leave with a cliffhanger) cause I'm going out of town for a week and won't have computer and my headache is back


	21. Atonement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Closing his eyes, he whispered, “None of it matters now.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lowkey Garrow's Law crossover.

“Alexander?” called Angelica, coming into the room.

Alexander didn’t look away from the window. He lay on the bed, tucked under the blanket.

“He was here, you know? In this room. Slept in this very bed, his head resting upon my chest – has the sheets been washed since? Don’t wash it; I think I can still smell him in them.” He paused. “Keep them this way for when he comes back.” said he as an afterthought. “I can’t wait ‘til he falls asleep in my arms again…”.

Angelica came to sit on the edge of the bed, the letter in her hand. “Alexander, there’s a letter for you.”

Alexander looked at her for the first time since he had been moved to this room, with hopeful eyes, and grinned at her. He lifted his head off the pillow a little to look at Angelica properly. “Is it from my Laurens? Give it to me, I’ll read it later in private.” He drew out his hand.

“No, Alexander. It’s from court.”

Alexander let his head fall back on the pillow and looked away again, uninterested. “Court?”

“You’ve been accused, Alexander. For forcefully committing sodomy.”

To Angelica’s surprise, Alexander laughed; a dry laughter, and sat up leaning on the headboard. “Who would charge me with that? And pray, why?”

“Martha Manning did… do you remember who she is?” Alexander’s face was stern. He gritted his teeth as he kept staring at Angelica. “She has accused you of sodomizing John Laurens against his will and of being the cause that John Laurens committed–.”

When Alexander spoke next he was fuming. “I – did not –“ He looked away. “Ask John, he will tell everyone that his wife lies.”

Angelica rested his palm over Alexander’s hand. “Alexander…” He didn’t turn his head from looking through the window. “Alexander, John is no more.” she said slowly.

Alexander jerked his hand away and fixated her with a furious and surprised look. “How could you say that?! I can’t believe– How _dare_ you say that?! You take that back!” said he, raising his voice towards the end.

“Alexander, John Laurens is dead.” Angelica’s voice was sterner now. “You found his body in his apartment. He committed suicide. You buried him!”

Alexander pressed his hands over his eras and clutching his eyes shut, screamed a series of ‘stop’s, making Angelica jerk back in shock. “I – don’t believe – don’t believe YOU!” he yelled, his voice shaking.

Angelica composed herself before taking out a letter and waving it in front of him. “Look at this. Look at it, Alexander! You know what this is.”

Alexander froze as his eyes leaked and looked at the letter, dumbfounded. “How did you…?”

“We found it in your coat pocket when the maid took it for washing.” Angelica unfolded John's letter and started reading it out loud.

Only a series of weak ‘no’s escaped Alexander’s mouth as he kept shaking his head from side to side, which slowly turned into a shriek. “No, no, no, NO! STOP! For God– God’s sake, stop! Stop!” And Angelica did, she stopped reading the letter and watched with sorrow in her eyes how Alexander wailed and kept screaming John’s name. He leaned over and kept poking his own throat, feeling a lump in his it, his mouth open wide, saliva running down his chin, eyes clutched shut, and face wet with uncontrollable stream of tears. Then he coughed before taking a desperate breath in, his eyes wide with pressure now, but the sobs and tears never stopping. “I can’t– I can’t– breathe, Betsey! BETSEY! I can’t– I–” He clutched his throat and coughed and hiccupped and closed his eyes again. “John! _John!_ I– can’t breathe–”

Angelica turned to see with tear filled eyes her sister standing straight at the door, her face composed and stern, staring blankly at her husband, only her eyes are leaking; no trace of emotion on her face. Angelica stood up and slowly ushered her sister away as maids rushed into the room.

 

Alexander was taken into custody that day.

 

* * *

 

 

He was lying on a rickety cot of his cell, silent tears rolling down the sides of his face as he stared at the ceiling when he heard his cell door being opened. He sat up on his bed as a man was lead into the cell.

The man was the last person Alexander expected to see here. “Burr?”

“Hamilton.” said Burr, his face straight, not showing any sort of emotion.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Burr sighed and dragged the stool from the corner of the room and sat across from Alexander on it. “Are you comfortable? Is there anything you need?”

Alexander chuckled which didn’t reach his eyes, and looked down. “I wasn’t brought here to be comfortable, Burr. I am given a bed, a mattress and blanket on it, gin and a candle, which is more than what an ordinary prisoner gets. And yet, no matter how much amenity I am given, it is impossible for me to be comfortable here.”

Burr nodded and silence fell between them. After a while, he looked up at him. “What have you done, Alexander? I told you to mind your step, to be careful of what you say, what you do and who you make your enemy… how did you end up here, accused of such a heinous crime?”

“Why do you care?” said Alexander bitterly.

Burr fixated him before saying, “I care because I am your attorney and I will not have your heedlessness lose me my case, so help me god.”

Alexander’s jaw dropped. “You… are my attorney?”

“Yes, I am. Thank the Lord that you still have your family beside you, Alexander. Your sister begged me to defend you in court. I know it’s a losing fight but I could not say no to her.”

“She is aware that you are the best here.” Alexander chuckled again and looked away. Closing his eyes, he whispered, “None of it matters now.”

“Now, let us be professional.” said Burr, ignoring Alexander’s comment. “Answer me, Hamilton, what exactly happened?”

Alexander didn’t answer.

“Hamilton…?” Burr sighed, knowing he wasn’t going to get a straight answer from him. “Did you or did you not force yourself on John Laurens.”

A single teardrop rolled down Alexander’s cheek as he whispered. “I did not.”

“Then why does Martha Laurens have the impression that you did?”

“She is mistaken. She doesn’t know.”

Burr hummed. “John Laurens was one of your closest friends, correct?”

“Yes.”

“He stayed in your house for a while, did he not? And you had him taken care of?”

“Yes.”

“Doctor, medicine, nurse?”

“Yes.”

“You paid for all this?”

“Hm.”

“And Laurens had no money?”

“No. Not until his father sent him some.”

“When did his father sent him money?”

“Why does it matter?”

“It matters, Alexander.”

Alexander shook his hand a little, trying to remember. “It was when he started living in his apartment most probably.”

“The apartment that you found him?”

“Yes, because he was weak. He couldn’t wander around looking for apartments.”

“And you paid the rent?”

Alexander tsked. “Yes.”

“And he never offered to repay you?”

“He did. He wanted to repay me with the money that he would earn from the job, but I dismissed the matter.”

“A job you say?”

“Yes, I offered him a job at the firm.”

“So he was indebted to you for the doctors, medicine, nurse, apartment _and_ job?”

“No, Burr, he was not _indebted_. I didn’t give him loans. He is my friend and I was helping him.” he said through gritted teeth, looking back at Burr, quite annoyed by now. “Was… was my friend.” he added turning away again.

“That is only your version.”

Alexander tsked again.

“Hamilton, there aren’t many things to defend you with. If you don’t listen to me and keep on pressing on things this way, you will be _hanged_ , if not castrated. Is that what you want?”

Alexander threw his head back in frustration so it thudded against the cold wall behind and let the tears roll down his face that he was trying so hard to hold back.

Burr sighed. “Be strong, man. You are not at fault here.”

“But I am. I am the reason he is dead. I promised to keep him safe and I failed. You won’t understand.”

Burr frowned at Alexander as if discerning something all of a sudden, and fidgeted a little. “I am not the person you want to talk to about these matters, Hamilton. Mrs. Church will be here to meet you soon. I am going to work and see how I can present these points in our favor tomorrow.” He stood. “And please, I beg of you, do not speak unless you are asked, let me handle everything. And don’t say anything stupid out of impulse.” Before leaving Burr halted at the door and turned. “Take care, Alexander, you have a family now that depends on you. You are not an orphan bachelor anymore, who has nothing to lose. Fight, if not for yourself, for your family. You cannot just give up. It will destroy them.”

Alexander gaped at him; quite and his eyes bloodshot.

* * *

 

Alexander kept quite when Martha was asked to describe what she saw that day in court, where his own wife is absent. “We were invited for dinner by Mrs. Hamilton. Mr. Hamilton took my husband and rushed to his study saying they needed to talk about his new job.” said she. She looked at Alexander with venom in her eyes. “We were about to leave, so I went up the stairs to call my husband when I heard muffled noises.”

“What sort, Mrs. Laurens?” asked her lawyer.

“Whine, pained.”

“Please continue, if it’s not too hard.”

Martha nodded, tears in her eyes. “I called my husband before I went to knock on the door but it was already ajar, you see. And I saw– I saw my husband bent over a desk, crying, his–” her voice shook, “his breeches down, struggling, while this monster forced himself on my poor husband from behind with the most atrocious expression upon his face. I screamed and ran out of the house with my daughter. My husband followed. I went home, locked myself and my daughter in a room. Packed my bags and left for South Carolina the next day.”

Silence fell in the court for a while before her lawyer said, “Thank you, Mrs. Laurens.” and went to sit.

 

Burr stood up swishing his gown, and came to stand before Martha.

“Mrs. Laurens… the door was ajar and you saw Mr. Hamilton forcing himself on your husband – your words – he was crying and struggling.”

“Yes.”

“And you ran out of the house that moment?”

“Yes, again.”

“You did not run to help your _poor_ husband even after seeing he was crying and struggling, seeing that he was in danger?”

“I–“ Martha stuttered, looking at her lawyer for help. “I was disgusted, and scared. I was unable to think straight. You must understand how horrifying it is for a lady to witness such a deed.”

“Shouldn’t your first instinct be to save your husband, to save him from ‘ _this monster’_?” Burr said, pointing at Alexander.

“I… I wouldn’t have been able to match his strength. He was a soldier.”

“You managed to give that a thought over the urge to protect your husband. He was a soldier you say. Was your husband not a soldier as well? The John Laurens I knew was stronger, taller and broader than Alexander Hamilton here. Was he not capable of defending himself?”

“He was ill! And weak!” said Martha desperately.

“And your husband followed you after you say. If Alexander Hamilton was forcing himself on your husband, if John Laurens was incapable of stopping him, why do you think he would let him follow you so quickly after?”

Martha’s expression grew wilder as Burr spoke. “Because he was giving in!” she half screamed.

“Why would he do so? Was he of sodomitical tendency?”

At that point, Martha’s lawyer stood saying, “Objection, my lord.” which is overruled by the judge.

“No, by God, no. Why would he then marry me, a girl? He gave in because he was indebted to Alexander Hamilton and was unable to repay him. He felt obliged. Alexander Hamilton took advantage of him.”

“Did your husband confess this to you?”

Martha hesitated before saying, “I will not lie in the court, he did not. But that is because I never gave him a chance to.” She whispered to herself, “I should have.”

“No, you locked yourself. But your husband followed you. He must have said _something_ to you.”

Martha glanced at her lawyer again before saying, “He kept saying ‘It is not what you think it is.’”

Burr nodded, his facial expression unchanged, resting. “And he was indebted you say? Of what?”

“Money… I’m not sure.”

“How do you not know? You were his wife. Isn’t it ideal for a husband and a wife to share such details?”

She was hesitant when she answered next. “He told me he owed money to Alexander Hamilton. He himself wasn’t sure how much.”

Burr took out his note, fixating Alexander before reading from it, praying Alexander wouldn’t open his damn mouth. “He owed Alexander Hamilton the money for his hospital fees, his medicines, nurse and three months’ rent of his apartment. Not to mention the job that he offered your husband. Am I wrong, Mrs. Laurens?”

Martha shook her head. “I don’t think so, no.”

“You agree. Then could it also be the reason you accused Alexander Hamilton of a crime that was never committed? Because you are unable to repay him now that your husband is gone?”

Martha’s lawyer objection was once again overruled. Martha let out a humorless chuckle. “You can’t accuse me of lying. There is no proof. I did not do that. I could never sink so low.”

“Well, you don’t have much proof that this man here sodomized your husband. The man who was your husband’s best friend, who, in spite of not having an abundance of wealth, helped your husband with everything he could, who, your husband himself sent for and in the way proving that he trusted the most when he was vulnerable and needed help. No proof except your own statement.”

Martha’s lawyer stood up chuckling a little when his objection was finally sustained, as if Burr had said something ridiculous. “Mr. Burr, let us not be so dramatic. While you have some points, at least we have a witness, whether it is the same person who filed the case, it does not matter. But you, Mr. Burr, have no witnesses who say they _didn’t_ see the act happening. Without a witness, your argument is weak”

 

Burr’s posture faltered.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Burr was determined. But...  
> Note that Martha is not lying, she is saying what she saw and assumed. Nor is Hamilton.  
> Also, I have very little idea about how courts work.
> 
> The real Martha(and this Martha) deserved better. I can't even begin to imagine what she might have gone through and tbh she deserves a biography of her own. And I strongly believe she did deserve better than how she was treated by her husband (I’ll stop here cause I will not inflict my views on you guys here cause this is not the place to do so). But I am saying all this because I want you all to know that how Martha is in this fic does not in any way mirror the characteristics of the the real Martha Manning. Writing this character in this way was out of my comfort zone, but sometimes you just have to do it. I needed a character to make certain things happen and I chose one of the main character’s wife to be that character.
> 
> edit: I made some minor edits where Angelica is showing Ham the letter. I forgot to mention that it was John's suicide note.


	22. Without Law There Would Be Love

The next week Burr found himself knocking at the door. He sighed, and saw his breath in the winter air. He was running out of options.

 

He was greeted by a maid who led him into the sitting room. “Can you please tell Mrs. Hamilton, Aaron Burr is here to see her.” he said to the maid before she turned to leave.

Moments later Eliza Hamilton entered the room. She wore a light blue skirt and matching blouse, a white shawl draped over it. Her inky black hair was in a neat bun, her skin paler than Burr has ever seen - he chose to believe the cold was what caused it.

Burr stood up to greet her, “Mrs. Hamilton, how do you do.”

She attempted a polite smile at him as she sat down on the sofa opposite him. Her voice was soft when she spoke. “Mr. Burr, would you like some tea?”

“That would be nice, thank you.”

Eliza called the maid and asked to bring tea. “How is Mrs. Burr? And your daughter?”

“They are both in good health, ma’am. Little Theodosia just started walking.” He chuckled softly, making Eliza join him. But her laugh didn’t quite reach her eyes. It almost felt like she wanted to laugh and smile, but she couldn’t bring herself to.

“I remember when my Philip took his first step.” said she, smiling.

“How is the little tot?”

“He is well. I just put him to bed.”

“Does he miss his father?” Burr said after a pause.

Eliza looked down. She was not ready for that. Then she said in a very small voice, “Very much.”

Burr sighed, nodding. The next inevitable question remained unasked; he knew what the answer would be.

The maid entered the room with a tray in her hand and set it down on the tea table. Eliza started making the tea and handed Burr a cup.

“Mrs. Hamilton, I think you know why I am here.”

“Yes, I can guess.” She said, still not meeting his eyes.

“I need your help to win this case. Alexander needs your help.”

Eliza only sighed in reply.

“You realize the consequences if we lose the case?”

“I know.”

“Then why do you seem reluctant, dear lady?”

Eliza shook her head from side to side. “What do you want me for?”

“You are the only one beside John and Martha Laurens, and Hamilton who was present in this house when what Mrs. Laurens said happened. If you could give your statement in the court, we have a big chance to win the case.” Burr said, desperation in his voice.

Eliza seemed hesitant. “I am not sure that would help much, Mr. Burr.”

“But believe me, ma’am, it would. And I take you were here when Laurens stayed in this house. So you can tell the court how their relationship was. And that it is impossible for your husband to do such a deed.”

Eliza shook her head again, clutching her eyes shut.

Burr frowned. “So you would rather see your husband hanged? I don’t understand why–“

Eliza stood up abruptly. “I’m sorry I cannot. Please don’t ask me to do this.” she said, her voice heavy with suppressed sobs, before she left the room.

 

Burr stared after her, frowning, dumbfound. He was not expecting it to turn out this way. He had thought this would be the easiest task – he would come, ask Eliza to come to court the next, and that would be that. He had not considered Eliza refusing his request. This was not the Eliza Hamilton he knew. The Eliza Hamilton he knew loved her husband, would fight for him, would not have cold feet if so much was at stake. What caused her to be like this? _What_ happened that day? Surely Alexander wasn’t lying; surely Alexander didn’t rape his best friend. That was not something Alexander could do.

Burr buried his face in his hands, sighing. He was at his wit’s end. He felt like he was handed a new case, not the case he had been working on for days, but something he had to start from the beginning again. There was something he was missing. And he could feel that one thing would change the whole scenario.

_But_ what? _And how do I deduce it?_

He had no options now that Eliza had refused to give her statement, he was going to lose the case and Alexander would be hanged. He couldn’t accept the reality of it. He couldn’t let this happen to Alexander. He was failing, as a lawyer, and as a friend.

 

“I’m sorry about Eliza.”

Burr jerked his head up to find Angelica standing at the door. “Mrs. Church.” He stood to greet her.

“She is not in a great state of mind.”

“So I see. But I don’t understand why.”

“I don’t think I can be of much help as I have never even met John Laurens.” said Angelica, evidently ignoring what Burr wanted to know. “But you can ask Marquis de Lafayette. He had offered to help should we ever needed it. I believe he was very close with both Laurens and Alexander.”

“I’m not sure it is going to be enough, but it is all I have now.”

“It might help change the jury’s mind. The Marquis is well known and loved here.”

“Sometimes that is not enough.” he repeated. “He still isn’t a witness.” Burr sighed. “He is in the country?”

“Yes, he is here for work.”

 

Butt bade goodbye after Angelica gave him the address. He was just about to leave when he was stopped by her. “Good luck, Mr. Burr. Save my brother, please. He might be an arrogant self-destructive loudmouthed moron, but he did nothing to deserve this.” she said, her eyes pleading.

 

And so Burr left the Hamiltons’ house and wrote to the Marquis, begging him to give his statement in court if he wanted to see his friend alive, and prayed he was going to show up in court tomorrow.

 

* * *

 

 

Eliza tossed and turned, but she couldn’t get comfortable. Sleep seemed to have eluded her. She was restless, the bed seemed too soft and the pillow to hard. It was too big and empty.

She sat up and leaned against the headboard. The four-poster bed was large yet it made her feel suffocated. She threw the blanket off, it was too hot. She drank half glass of water that sat on the bedside table – it didn’t help much. She got up, not bothering to put the robe over her linen nightgown, lit up a candle lamp and walked out of the room; her footsteps soft, careful not to make a sound. She stood in front of the door of her husband’s study. Without thinking, she pushed the door. The door swung open, revealing the scattered papers. Nothing in the room had been touched; the door hadn’t been opened since Alexander had been transferred from this room.

Eliza knelt down and, putting the lamp on the floor, picked up the nearest paper. She started reading.

 

Everybody knew Alexander’s writing was brilliant, that the quill was his power; but the way he wrote the letters… Eliza failed to find a word to describe it with. It was nothing like his other works, it was more… _more_. They were all replete with love that was divine and pure and true and… incomplete. The desire, the devotion, one soul _yearning_ to be united with its mate – always incomplete without the other.

It wasn’t until she had gone through a dozen or more letters that Eliza realized that she was crying, an unbearable pain in her chest.

They were all letters, love letters, addressing John, explaining, describing with elegant wording how they met, the days spent together, the days spent apart, the pain and the bliss, the longing and the reconciliation, the love and the jealousy, the things they said to each other, the things left unsaid, apologies and gratitude, _I love you_ said in a thousand language and in a thousand ways.

Their story.

 

Memoir.

 

Incomplete.

 

Always would be.

 

* * *

 

 

Tomorrow the decision would be made. Most probably. But Alexander could hardly feel anything, could not bring himself to care. He could not sleep. All he saw when he closed his eyes was his smiling face, bright, like when he first met him. Not all the features individually, but in whole. Pure. Warmth. Sunshine. _John_.

The soft murmur of a nearby stream.

 

It was a happy memory. But it hurt. His love was absent. His smile was.

 

He was letting the silent tears roll down the sides of his face when a familiar scene happened in front of him. Burr was yet again led into his cell. Only this time it was near midnight. Alexander sat up and quickly wiped his tears with his sleeves.

 

“Alexander.” Burr nodded. He was a little out of breath. He sat on the same stool and drank water from Alexander’s glass, not bothering to ask for permission.

 

“Burr, it’s the middle of the night.” said Alexander, a little baffled.

 

Burr huffed out a long frustrated sigh before leaning to rest his elbows on his knees and looking at Alexander, his expression softer than it usually was. “It is,” said he slowly. “It is the middle of the night, when I put off my powdered wig and my cloak and put off the barrister mask and become just Aaron Burr, your friend, your colleague, your… acquaintance, whatever you may call it.”

Alexander frowned. “I don’t understand.”

“You must speak plainly to me, Alexander.” A pause, while Alexander realized what he meant. “Of the relationship between John and you.”

Alexander let out a shaky chuckle and looked down. “His memories are something too precious and true to be lied about. But know this, Burr, I never lied to you about him. And I don’t presume you are ready to know the truth.”

“Then I will be plain with you.” Burr continued. “I… I had fallen in love with a woman who was married to another man. If I say I remained virtuous I would be lying. And no lie must be exchanged between us tonight, Alexander, only the truth must.” He looked ahead, not meeting his eyes. “Theodosia committed adultery continuously and I did not say no… and I did not regret. Because she loved me, and I her, and no marriage is truer than that. The night we were informed that her husband has died, she wept in my arms. But I felt an animalistic sensation inside of me, a selfish happiness. It meant we could be together now. We were lucky; the odds were in my favor. But everybody is not as lucky as we were.” he sighed. This was the most open he had been about his private life with anyone. “Love does not discriminate, Alexander. It has the power to make good men do bad things, and bad men do good. So when I ask you to tell me the whole of the truth, I ask you not as your attorney, but as your friend, a friend who was also in love with someone who was not rightfully his.” He looked at Alexander, whose head was bowed. “How was he… your Laurens?”

 

A minute or so passed as Alexander counted his breath. Burr waited patiently before Alexander started speaking, his voice so small, soft and full of adoration, “John… I have never seen someone so beautiful. His deep, deep eyes were the perfect combination of green and brown, his scattering freckles hid his blush when I kissed his hands. His skin glowed in the sun when he emerged from underneath the transparent water of the stream; the droplets clinging to his skin and hair glistening and it seemed as if he was carved with diamonds. His full lips were pink when he was well fed and his smile made me blind. He hummed with his baritone voice when I played with his curls… the voice that haunts me at night now. In that state when you are only half-asleep, I feel him whisper something incomprehensible in my ears with that voice. Sometimes I wonder if the supernatural is something to be believed in.” Alexander kept on talking as if he had no idea at this point who he was talking to, or he simply didn’t care. “He was a proud man; quiet, but loud when his interest was roused. Always cautious of his surroundings, attentive. But before me… he let his guards down, putty in my hands. He was reckless and untamed in the battlefield, but gentle and fragile within the four walls of our room. There were times when cried in my arms and talked of how we were committing sin. I tried to make him understand that we were not, but he was as stubborn and I am. So I just… let him wet my shirt with his tears at night. But he would give in to my touch, always.” He paused. “His soul was scarred. This world scarred it. His family scarred it. The war scarred. I… scarred it.”

 

There was silence between them for a while before Burr broke it. “These people… they will hang you for your sentiments alone.”

 

“Hang me for loving another.”

 

Burr nodded looking down. “And Mrs. Laurens. She happened upon you that day?”

 

Alexander nodded. “Stormed out, misinterpreting the situation, did not let John explain himself. John, not being able to take the shame…” Alexander’s eyes were watery now. “I did not rape him, Burr… we made love.” Burr was unable to respond to that. Alexander looked up at him. “Do I disgust you?”

 

Burr frowned for a second, before his expression became soft again. “I see men who do rape women… and boys. I see men beating their wives for no good reason. I see people buy and sell human beings as if they are a pile of meat. Then I am in the grip of that emotion.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a mess. I'm sorry, my headache is back and I didn't do a good job at editing.
> 
> It was going to be 23 chapters but I split one chapter into two because I thought this was the point where this chapter should end. So now there will be 24 chapters (the last chapter is actually epilogue)


	23. Illation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Alexander was ready._

His hands itched where the handcuffs clung to his wrists, digging into his skin. He twisted his hands a little, the attached chains rattled, and it burned.

  
Alexander was waiting right outside the courtroom, guards standing motionless beside and behind him – four of them. And the last person he wanted to see came to stand before him.

He held her gaze for a while, hatred pouring out of her eyes while his were blank. “Why are you doing this?” said Alexander, his voice soft, weak.

“Because I want my husband’s soul to find peace, to punish a _monster_ like you.”

Alexander’s voice was dangerously hushed when he spoke next - an abrupt change - eyes watery with angry tears. “You know _nothing_!”

“I only know that you debauched my husband and you deserve what is happening to you.”

“That is _not_ what happened. I could _never_ –”

“I know what I saw that day!” she almost yelled but controlled her voice, “You are the reason he is dead! You have to pay for the sins you have committed, Alexander Hamilton, you will not die without being condemned for your sins.”

“Oh, you are so ignorant.” Alexander chuckled humorlessly. “He is gone; no punishment can be greater than that, Mrs. Laurens. So I dare you try, for I do not fear death, if it means I am to see my Laurens again, I shall embrace death like an old friend.”

Martha stared at him, incredulous, her eyes wide with fury and disgust, before her lawyer called her, “Mrs. Laurens, it’s time.”

 

He had not been trying to read Burr’s expression, but the frustration on his face was so evident. When Burr came to him moments before the judge was to take his seat, Alexander was ready for bad news. _None of it matters now._

He leaned in to listen to what Burr had to say.

“Hamilton… I could not convince your wife to be here, I’m sorry.” said Burr slowly, too ashamed that he failed to meet his eyes.

Alexander smiled. “That’s alright. I know Betsey, she won’t commit perjury.” he said, keeping his voice down so only Burr could hear him. “John is dead because of me and I deserve this.” he repeated Martha’s words, nodding, “It does not matter which way I go, Burr, or what the world thinks I did. I deserve to be condemned and that is the only truth that matters.”

 

When Lafayette came to take his oath, Alexander was happy to see his friend again. He barely listened to what he was saying.

“I know Hamilton. Laurens, him and I have even shared a tent during the war. I have worked with both of them and we were and are the best of friends. Never have I ever seen Hamilton behave in a manner that Mrs. Laurens seem to say he has. He is too noble a man to do such a thing; an honorable man. And to Laurens,” Lafayette chuckled. “Not possible. Hamilton loved Laurens as if he were his own brother. Believe me, I have witnessed their friendship.”

Alexander looked at the jury; despite of it being the Marquis, they were not impressed. He smiled at Lafayette when he stepped out of the box.

 

“Mr. Burr, do you have any other witnesses?” the judge inquired.

“I…” Burr scanned the crowd, then the jury, and sighed walking towards the dock. “I’m sorry, Alexander. I failed.” he whispered.

Alexander smiled at Burr again and, closing his eyes, clutched the wood of the dock, ready for whatever might come. _None of it matters now._

“We have no other witnesses, my lord.” Burr declared.

 

“Wait!” someone yelled from the crowd.

 

Alexander’s eyes shot open; the tears gathering in his eyes now free to roll down his face. “Betsey…” he whispered. He watched as his wife walked down to Burr and said something in his ear and Burr nodded.

“My apologies to the court, my lord, it seems our last witness was merely late to come to the court.” said Burr as Eliza stepped into the witness box. The judge tsked and shook his head, but gestured to carry on all the same. Eliza took her oath before Burr said, “Mrs. Hamilton, please describe what you saw the day Mrs. Laurens says she witnessed your husband forcing himself on her husband.”

“I saw nothing. Nothing different from what a normal gathering should be.” said Eliza quite confidently. Alexander felt as if he heard his wife’s voice a thousand years later. He closed his eyes and gave all his attention to that sweet voice. “My husband and I had invited the Laurens’ for dinner, they came, we talked, and then had dinner. My husband took John Laurens to his office to talk about the new job that he had offered him. And after a while they left.” said Eliza, not meeting anyone’s eyes.

Martha could be seen fuming in her seat, shaking her head furiously, glaring at Eliza. “You lie!” she yelled at one point.

“I did not. I just described what I saw to the court.”

“You liar! You know what happened that day!”

“Mr. Smith, control your client.” said the judge to Martha’s lawyer.

 

After whispering things to Martha, her lawyer stood up. “My lord, if I may ask a question to Mrs. Hamilton.” The judge nodded. Smith came to stand before Eliza. “So you say you believe your husband to be innocent? Am I not correct, Mrs. Hamilton.”

“I _know_ my husband is innocent.”

“Then why, Mrs. Hamilton, you did not come to give your statement on the first day, or simply be in the audience to support your husband? And I don’t recall seeing you in the audience.”

Eliza took a deep breath before saying, “That is because I was ashamed of what my husband was accused of. I was not comfortable, not ready to face it. But I never for once believed that my husband could rape someone, because I know my husband, and I know how much he loved his friend. John Laurens spent a peaceful and happy time in our house while he was recovering. And I did not see– nor is it possible for my husband to commit such a heinous crime of forcing himself upon anyone, let alone his dearest friend.”

Smith backed away slowly as Eliza stepped out of the box. “One question still remains, my lord.” said he. “Why _did_ John Laurens commit suicide if not for the shame of being forcefully sodomized by his _friend_?”

Burr stood. “As there was no note found with the body,” said Burr. Alexander looked at his shoes. “We will never know for sure why John Laurens committed suicide. But all we know is this – Martha Laurens was not present in the house when John Laurens was found dead, and most probably not present when he committed suicide. Did they quarrel a lot? Was that the reason Martha Laurens took their daughter and went to live with her father-in-law in South Carolina? Is that why John Laurens took him own life because he couldn’t stand it anymore?” Smith objected which was overruled. “We also know that John Laurens was a proud man, a soldier. And he was wounded, weak when he sent for Hamilton for help; something he never really recovered from.  Hamilton lent him money, paid for his medication, found him an apartment and a job… It could be that John Laurens’ pride was marred for asking for help so much, for not being able to be the strong, proud man that he used to be. Thus…” Burr drew his hands out and shrugged before taking his seat. “We have no more witnesses, milord.”

 

There were no more questions, no more witnesses, no more reasoning, it all came down to the juries. Alexander was ready. Drowning out the judge’s, the lawyers’, the juries’ and the crowds’ voices, he stole one last glance at his wife, who was staring at him from her seat, her expression unreadable, even though her eyes were watery. Angelica was sitting beside her, holding her hand. Alexander smiled at Eliza, didn’t expect it to be mirrored, and it was not. “My dear…” he mouthed, knowing no one would hear him. He then reverted his glance to the judge, whose lips were moving but the sound coming out did not make any sense to Alexander. There was murmuring among the table across from him and after a while someone stood up and said something that included his name and John’s – that much he registered. He let his eyes close at the utterance of his love’s name, head bowed into his chest, and smiled again. “John…” he whispered. He saw that smiling face again. Pure. Warmth. Sunshine. “So close… my love, so close to you…”

Alexander was ready.

 

A loud thud finally got his attention, and he jerked opening his eyes and looked at the source of the noise – the judge. A single drop of tear fell down his face before he heard the old man announce, “Clear of all charges.”

 

Alexander stopped breathing. He didn’t remove his gaze. He was frozen. He didn’t know what to feel.

He was free. But what did it matter?

It meant that he got to see his son again, be with his wife, live another day. But it also meant he didn’t get to see his love again, didn’t get to reconcile. Why did this happen when he was ready to go? Why was John taken away from him when he _wasn’t_ ready to let him go?

 

Burr came grinning to him. He shook him in his excitement, grabbing his shoulders over the dock, “Congratulations, Hamilton, you’re free. We won.”

Alexander stared at Burr as the guards released him of the handcuffs; mouth slightly ajar, eyes blank. “Why…?”

“I–“ Burr was taken aback. “The juries think you innocent.”

 

Alexander was ushered out of the courtroom, Burr lagging behind to handle the paperwork. Angelica hugged him boldly and kissed his cheeks, patted his head. “Oh Alexander…” she breathed. “Dear brother, you’re okay, you’re released.” She moved aside for Alexander to see who was standing behind her.

 

Eliza.

 

Her eyes soft with tears. She returned the overdue smile. But it was not sad as Alexander’s had been, it was reassuring, forgiving, mild, and loving.

Alexander tried hard to control his quivering lips but it twisted downwards as he whispered, “Betsey…” And he broke down, wailing, fell on his knees, clutching Eliza’s skirt for support and rubbing his face on it. The broken words he was trying to produce were drowned by the sobs.

Eliza knelt down before her husband and cradled his face. “Shhh…”

“You– you lied– lied in-n court for– m-me.” Alexander managed to say.

“I did not lie, my dear, no. You did not commit the crime of which you were accused. I helped the truth win.” said she, gently rubbing away the tears from her weeping husband’s face before embracing him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter!
> 
> And pardon my inaccurate and limited knowledge of how court works.


	24. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where to now?  
> Where can I go now?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (raise your hand if you know what song that is ^)

Philip ran to his father screaming, “Dada!” as Eliza took Alexander’s coat. Angelica walked right behind him and embraced Eliza.

Alexander scooped Philip up, groaning; he was weak, tired. “How is my boy?” He smiled in spite of the moisture gathering in his eyes. Philip wrapped his arms around his father’s neck, and Alexander let the tears fall.

“Alexander,” said Angelica, Alexander looked at her. “It’s good to see you home again.”

Alexander smiled.

 

Philip would not let Alexander out of his sight, he spent the rest of the day with him, playing, making Alexander read to him, demanding to be fed by him, and neither Eliza nor Angelica interrupted them. He had missed his father. And Alexander loved obliging his little requests. But Alexander didn’t talk as much as he used to, wasn’t as lively playing with and reading to his son as he used to be, but they knew he was trying. Alexander read to him in the living room, with Philip sat on his lap, until he could hear tiny sleepy grunts and snores. His soft cheek was pressed against Alexander’s chest as he drooled a little. Alexander tucked him in that night.

 

When he was being taken to bed, he stopped in front of the closed door of his study. Eliza let go of his hand as his other hand hovered over the handle of the door. He took a breath and pushed open the door.

It was tidy. There were no papers scattered on the floor, instead they were all piled on his desk neatly. Alexander didn’t move. For a second Eliza thought he would be mad. But he turned to look at Eliza, a sad smile dancing across his lips, and he sighed, as if he was relieved somehow, asking a silent question. Eliza held his gaze and noticed the tears in his eyes. She nodded.

He slowly walked to the desk, his hands drawn out as if he wasn’t sure what to do with them. He touched the top paper after a while, took it in his hand, and then took another. He was not reading them.

“They are all in order.” said Eliza.

Alexander nodded without looking at her. “This is… this is why you came to court?”

“I realized–“ Eliza did not complete the sentence. Alexander didn’t ask her to. They both knew.

 

Alexander refused to leave the room for the night, said he wished to sleep there tonight, just for tonight. Eliza brought him blankets and pillows.

 

In the middle of the night, Eliza was awoken, by what exactly she didn’t know. She went to check on her husband. She wasn’t surprised to find his study empty; the blankets and pillows exactly where she had left them, untouched. She was a little worried, but not scared.

She looked in Philip’s room, in the guestroom, in the bathroom with a candle lamp in hand. When she got downstairs, she found the backdoor ajar, bright yellow light entering the house though it, piercing the darkness of the night.

She opened the door wide to find Alexander in the garden, standing in front of a fire, staring at the flames, with papers in his arm, letters. He was burning them. One by one.

 

When Eliza went to stand beside him, she saw the flames reflecting in his warm brown eyes, but there was a sense of tranquility in them, absolution, forgiveness, closure, and something she could only describe as ache.

 

“What can I do to earn your love back?” he said out of the blue, without looking at her. He paused, then added, “This is me apologizing… not for loving him… for breaking your heart. Will you forgive me? Will you… will you ever be able to love me again?”

Eliza sighed, his breath shaky when it was let out, moisture gathering in her eyes. “I never did stop loving you. It is something that can never be changed.”

“I don’t deserve it.” Alexander took her hands and kissed them before continuing to let the papers slip from his hands and fall into the fire.

“Are you not keeping them?”

Alexander’s voice was calm when he spoke. “Letters are meant to be sent, Eliza, not for sitting on your desk where they will never be read. They are meant to be sent to the person they were written for. I am sending the letters to him.” He sighed, still staring at the flames and how the papers were consumed by them. “Now our story lives only in my memory, it shall die with me. The story shall remain _ours_ only. This cruel world doesn’t deserve to know of its purity. Its sole reader shall be you, because you only deserve and understand it.”

 

Eliza looked at her husband, slightly confused and worried. But she found no manic spark in his eyes that she feared had returned. Instead she saw the tint of a blissful mild smile, almost there.

She noticed Alexander palming his pocket and lovingly caressing the lump. She knew what that was, she knew it wouldn’t be burned. And she sighed and smiled sadly.

 

Together they watched as the wind carried the smoke along with bits of the ashes of the letters away and into the night sky.

 

The letters were delivered.

 

* * *

 

Decades later when Alexander was shot to death by the attorney who once saved his life, all of John’s love letters to him were tucked in his chest pocket, they went with him to the grave. The rest were left for the future historians; the world would know the fierce soldier that John Laurens was, Henry Laurens’ son, the abolitionist, the rebel, the polyglot, the proud patriot, the callous husband and father, the man whose pride killed him in the end, but not the lover, not of the forbidden love that Alexander and John shared and did not leave divine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is it guys. This is the first big thing I finished. Thank you for all the hits and kudos and all of your comments which encouraged me a lot more than you know! And I love you all for reading this crap :) And I apologize to those who I've disappointed or offended in any way. And sorry for all my typos and stuff.  
> I don't know yet if I'll ever write anything else of this au, but I do have a few ideas of one-shots (sort of prequels though), but I'm not sure if that'll ever happen.  
> I'm aware that I left a lot of loose ends, and I did that on purpose. Those are the things I like to let the readers decide. But still if you are confused about anything, just ask me.  
> I loved writing this and I am sad that it's finished. This was my way to escape, and I love this story (lame, I know, but it's true). I'm starting a new thing (something Lams, along with the modern au series that I posted last month), but I don't think I'll ever love writing anything as much as I loved this one.


End file.
